The Road Back: Season Three
by xxmagex
Summary: The events started in The Road to Hell continue. The world changes as the Scoobies and others realize they are part of a bigger world.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE-** Before we start out with Season Three, I wanted to apologize for the tardiness of these parts being posted. Shortly after I started preparing parts for posting I had a family/health/personal situation pop up with took quite a bit of my time. Then in March, the laptop where I had the parts on had problems which still haven't been fully fixed. However, I did get a patch which lets me use the laptop and I was able to start getting these parts ready for posting.

So far without further ado, on to Season Three of the Road Back.

 **Season Three**

 **Part Forty-one**

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. May 14, 2001**

How do you deal with the concept that your entire damn life, everything you ever thought was true - is in fact nothing but a lie?

Almost exactly at midnight Dawn Summers carefully opened the back door of her house, and walked slowly into the kitchen. If anyone had seen her at that moment, they would have been struck dumb by the way she looked.

Because she looked broken and shell-shocked, with the proverbial thousand-yard stare in her eyes.

However, no one was present in the kitchen to see the female teenager come in. They were all elsewhere, looking for this child - who wasn't really a child - that had been missing for hours.

Dawn sat down on a chair next to the breakfast table, and continued to stare vacantly out into space. The capacity for rational thought was not strong within her at the moment; but if it had been, most likely Ms. Summers would have cursed herself for being so determined to find out the truth within the deceased Xander Harris's letters.

For like Stephen King had once written, "some things are better not seen, and some things are better lost than found".

{I'm not real?} Dawn finally thought dazedly to herself. For maybe the millionth time, ever since she had read Xander's second letter. {I was created by magic? How can this be possible? Oh my God...*I* was what those Knights wanted, all along.}

And it *was* all true, in her mind. It explained far too many things - for example, why the others were so reluctant to *ever* let her out of their sight. Or that night months ago; when Buffy had acted so weird staring at her, and then come barging into her room and looked around in like total confusion.

Granted, she hadn't yet gone to the psycho ward of Sunnydale Memorial to test out her suspicions, like Xander had warned Giles not to ever let happen, but in Dawn's opinion that would just be a formality anyway.

Because she *was* the Key. She wasn't human. She wasn't a Summers woman. Mo- Joyce wasn't really her mother, and Buffy wasn't her sister either.

Remembering something else that the dead man had written, Dawn then opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. She sat there for several moments, and stared at its glittery blade. {I wonder.}

Dawn was suddenly shaken out of her state of stupor, by the sound of people in the front of the house. She listened to the voices...

"She's got to be somewhere! I mean, she was here when we left." That was Joyce's voice.

"Don't worry, Mom, we'll find her!" Buffy spoke that time, her voice coming closer to the kitchen.

Dawn stood up, and hurried to the door leading to the basement. And she was down the stairs, mere seconds before Buffy opened the door to the kitchen.

 **The Rochefort Institute of Strategic Planning,** **Urbana, Illinois. A few moments previously**

"Get the Wizard to safety!" Cleburne instantly shouted, as he saw Xander take a shotgun blast to the back to protect Irving Hollins.

Harris started to collapse, and as he did so Cleburne grabbed the young boy and roughly pushed him back to where Gunny was. Rachael Weitz rushed forward with her pistol drawn, shooting at the vampires who were now appearing all around them.

"Now, now, pet - can't have you interfering 'n all-"

In less than a moment Cleburne saw a blonde-haired vampire that he guessed was Spike raise a shotgun, and aim it at Rachael. The weapon belched out fire and smoke, and Cleburne heard the sickening impact of shotgun pellets onto human flesh.

"Damn-" Cleburne cursed, as he watched Rachael fall to the ground, her body a bloody mess.

His sidearm quickly pulled out from his shoulder holster underneath his jacket, the Marine colonel moved forward to where Xander and Rachael were both laying. Cleburne then shot several times at the vampires who were now approaching, whilst nearby Spike was reloading the double-barrelled shotgun.

A pale, dark-haired woman wearing a Victorian-era dress and carrying a doll stepped from behind Spike. The vampire known as Drusilla then looked down at the unconscious Xander. "Wildcat, my precious Spoike, look - it's that 'orrible little wildcat 'imself!" she said, an oddly joyous note in her obviously-insane voice.

Spike paused, and looked at what Drusilla had discovered. "What the - Droopy Boy?" he demanded of no one in particular. Spike then looked confused, "Thought you were in that bloody hell dimension we 'ad the redhead send you to."

A vampire standing next to Spike suddenly burst into flames though, which drew his attention back to the task at hand. "No matter, we'll settle this right now. Kill 'em all!" the undead guy shouted to the other vampires present.

Cleburne once again bit back a curse, as he calculated the odds in his head. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Gunny had grabbed Hollins, and proceeded with all haste to safety. So he quickly turned his attention back to the threat approaching him. "I'll need more ammo," the secret agent muttered.

A vampire leaped forward, and was rewarded with two special bullets to his head. It quickly flared and burst into flames, quickly followed by it turning into dust. A second vampire went down screaming, with a bullet hole smoking in her shoulder.

The other vampires were noticeably slower in approaching Cleburne and his two downed compatriots, after that.

"Oh come on, you bloody wankers!" Spike said in annoyed exasperation. The blonde-haired vampire then saw that Cleburne was aiming at him. So he grabbed the nearest vamp minion handy, and pushed him hard towards the USMC officer.

The unfortunate creature's body intersected with three bullets. The vampire screamed as the wounds smoked and burst into flames, the special ammo used by the Siberian performing as designed. The flames quickly spread, and the vampire turned into dust.

Cleburne saw that four vamps were now between him and Spike. And Spike had finished reloading, and was grinning at the Marine. "Looks like your luck's run out, mate. Don't worry though, I'll take care o' the whelp soon as I'm done with you - well, if the little git isn't screaming again in Hell by then."

However, both Spike and Cleburne had forgotten that there was another party involved here. And everyone was suddenly reminded of her presence when a mailbox suddenly flew past Cleburne, and neatly decapitated one of the approaching vampires.

"What the 'ell!" Spike shouted, looking around.

Joshua spared another glance over his shoulder, and saw the teenaged Bethany Chaulk live and in person. She was frowning, and clearly concentrating. And she had obviously decided to show Spike and his minions her special talents.

William the Bloody hadn't connected the nearby teenybopper with the strange turn of events, though. He was looking around and muttered, "Just had to be the bloody Slayer, didn't it!? Shoulda known the li'l blonde bint would show her face, just to mess things up."

The mailbox moved again and flew into a second vampire, as the Marine kept firing at the enemy. However, the vamp was able to dodge so that the mailbox did not take off its head. But the bloodsucker was still knocked down, with the mailbox pinning it to the ground.

The vampire screamed in terror, as the mailbox pressed down. After a few seconds, a sickening crack was heard as the vampire's ribcage collapsed. A second later, a pile of dust shot out from under the mailbox as the vamp's heart was crushed.

Dru's eyes widened, as she proved that she was quicker on the uptake than her vampire boyfriend. "Spike, it's not the Slayer, it's the little girl with hair of fire! She's some kind o' witch."

Bethany heard Drusilla's observation. She opened her eyes and replied, "No, I'm no witch, but what you are certainly rhymes with that!"

The mailbox again arose from the ground. It hovered for a second, and then headed straight for Drusilla.

"Dru!" Spike shouted out, his heart full of the one fear that as a demon, he had ever really acknowledged to himself.

He dropped the shotgun, and threw himself towards his beloved. William hit her body and knocked her to the ground, as the mailbox flew through the air where a few seconds before the vampire seer had been standing. It then hit the ground several feet from the place where the two vampires were laying, and started to vibrate from the impact.

"Damn. Missed," Bethany snapped, beads of sweat flowing down her forehead. "But I won't next time."

"Won't get another chance, sorry luv!" Spike snarled, as he scrambled for the shotgun he had dropped. He grabbed it, and swung around to point it at the teenage girl.

Almost forgotten, Cleburne reacted by firing off two shots as he launched himself towards Ms. Chaulk. He heard in the following order, Spike screaming in pain, the blast of a shotgun, Bethany crying out in surprise as she fell to the ground with him on top of her, and the whistle of shotgun pellets above them.

"Get off me!" Bethany shouted in annoyance.

Cleburne looked over at the vampires - and saw that Spike had dropped the shotgun once again and was holding his hands to his right knee, cursing in pain. Drusilla was clambering to her feet, looking with concern at her boyfriend. "Spike-y?"

"Bloody damn bints, they're all the same," the object of her concern said through gritted teeth. "Didn't you hear me? I said kill them all!" William shouted to his remaining vampire minions.

The minions, stupid as most minions are and figuring they had the advantage of numbers, turned and started to advance.

But then the lead of the four vampires suddenly jerked, as the roar of an automatic weapon erupted.

From the building the Siberians had exited barely a few minutes before, a trio of security guards had run out of. Of course, with them working for the Rochefort Institute of Strategic Planning, they were far more heavily armed than normal security guards. Since most members of campus security in the U.S. did not carry M-16 assault rifles. The vampire shot by the first guard swatted at the smoking places on his body to no avail, as he quickly burst into flames.

The first of the guards had paused for a second to assess the situation; and then he'd opened fire with a burst from the rifle, smoke wafting from the barrel. The other two guards ran past him, towards the vampires.

Spike looked at the new scene, and quickly calculated the odds in light of what had just happened. His self-preservation instinct kicked into full gear, and thus even though he was still in terrible pain, the British vampire climbed to his feet and grabbed Drusilla. "Come on luv, it's getting a mite too crowded here for us." He started to hobble away.

Cleburne raised his pistol, carefully aiming at Spike. However, at that moment, Xander choked - and blood flowed out of his mouth.

"Oh, hell!" Cleburne cursed, as he hurried over to check on Xander and Rachael. He crouched down, ignoring the weapons fire that was now taking place as the remaining vampires were dealt with by the guards. And what he found, did not make him feel any better.

He looked up and saw that the vampire minions were now suitable as occupants for a dustbuster, while Spike and Drusilla had made good their escape. "Corpsman!"

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. Thirty minutes later**

Buffy sat down by the phone, as she spoke to her mother. "Willow and Tara haven't seen her, they've just come from the Magic Box. Anya's there though, and she'll call if Dawn shows up."

Joyce ran her right hand through her hair, feeling trapped in her damned wheelchair. "She's got to be somewhere. She knows better than to wander around town after dark!" The middle-aged mother had moved into the living room when they had gotten home, and hadn't left the room once.

Giles placed his hands on Joyce's shoulders reassuringly. "We'll find her, Joyce. Don't worry."

"Don't do that, damn it! Because Dawn's my little girl, of course I'm going to worry!" Joyce shouted, and instantly looked like she regretted it.

Buffy moved quickly to her mother's side. "Mom, I promise you, we'll find her and bring her back safe."

"Am I really not real?"

The three of them looked up to the hallway leading into the kitchen, and they all gasped at what they saw.

Dawn stood there, holding a knife in her hand. And blood was flowing down her right forearm from a long, nasty, and self-inflicted gash - not exactly what had happened in the original history, but close enough.

"Dawn, what happened? Were you attacked?" Buffy managed to gasp out. Behind her, she heard the whir of Joyce's motorized wheelchair as Mother Summers started towards her younger daughter.

"I never was your daughter, was I? That's just something they put into your head. My head, and everyone else's head too." Dawn said, the look in her eyes not really focusing on the others in the living room.

As she heard these words Buffy felt her stomach tighten, and she instantly knew in her gut what had happened. {Oh, God, She knows now about the Key stuff, somehow she found out.}

Of course, knowing something in her gut wasn't any guarantee that Buffy could and would accept what was happening. "Dawn, what do you mean?"

"Honey-" Joyce said, as she stretched her arms out towards her daughter.

"No!" Dawn shouted, as she backed away from the advancing Joyce. Her eyes full of tears, she cried out, "I'm not real, I-I'm just a big ball of energy. Just a, a walking battery. And you knew! You all knew. What, did you keep me around just in case the batteries in the flashlight ran out?"

"Dawn-" Joyce started to say in a soothing voice.

"No! Don't pity me, and don't talk down to me. You should have told me, damn it, you should have told me!" Dawn whined.

She looked around, wide-eyed. {This place isn't my home. I've gotta get outta here! } "You should have told me!" The young brunette then turned around and ran out of the room, and a second later the kitchen door was heard to slam shut.

"Dawn!" Joyce shouted and headed her wheelchair towards the door, clearly intending to follow her out.

"No, wait!" Buffy shouted and ran in front of Joyce. "Giles, you and Mom stay here, I'll go bring her back."

"Buffy-" her Watcher started to say.

"No, I'm the Slayer. I'll take care of this!" Buffy hurried through the kitchen and into the night, in pursuit of her sister.

 **Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana, Illinois. Two hours later**

Esther Marcum made her way into the hospital through the ER entrance. She spotted Cleburne talking to two men, who had the look of plain-clothes police officers.

Thus, she immediately headed over towards him. "What the hell's going on? You've turned this place into a fortress."

Cleburne turned from the detectives to his superior. He waited until the thin blue line were out of earshot and then hissed, "Damn vampires. Paid us a visit, and tried to kill the Wizard. The kid and Weitz got shot."

"How are they?" Esther asked, concern clear on her face.

"Irving is fine; traumatized, but physically okay. I put him upstairs, Gunny's with him. Howard's in surgery right now. Doesn't look good either, the staff gets all skittish when I try to ask questions," Cleburne replied.

"And Ms. Weitz?" Esther said uncertainly, suspecting the worst.

"She was pronounced dead on arrival when we got here, there was nothing anyone could do. I'm just hoping the kid doesn't join her, before the night's over," Joshua tried to keep the sigh out of his voice.

"I'm surprised you didn't have Dr. Chalmers flown in, then," Esther remarked.

Cleburne shook his head. "No time. We're having to make do, with whatever we have on hand here." Cleburne sat down in one of the chairs, his exhaustion evident to any who looked.

"Any other casualties?" Esther asked. Being one of the leaders of Siberian Trip Wire required a realization that losses of human assets was bound to happen, and she needed to be fully briefed.

"Two of the bodyguards are dead, one's in critical condition. I'll have to write the condolence letters later," Cleburne explained, as he ran his fingers through his hair. "And most of the vampires are dust, but the lead two got away."

"We know who they are?"

Cleburne nodded. "Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Spike and Drusilla themselves. The male vamp got wounded with a bullet to the leg, but what with the way the bloodsuckers heal, it might not even be bothering him anymore. I've got people looking for them, right now."

The sound of a throat clearing caused both of them to look up. Standing in front of them was a doctor in surgical garb, which was stained with human blood. "Excuse me, but we need to talk..."

 **Demon bar, Urbana, Illinois. Half an hour later**

Urbana, Illinois wasn't located on a Hellmouth. It also wasn't very large, compared to other cities throughout the world. It simply didn't have the teeming 'night life' that other places located on the planet did.

Thus, there was just the one demon bar on the outskirts of town, where the few demons that lived underneath the radar hung out with whatever vampires were around.

On this night, two of those vampires were familiar to the people who used to frequent the old library of Sunnydale High School, during what some might call 'the good old days'. Spike and Drusilla were sitting in a booth near the back door, and Spike was cursing under his breath as the bullet wound from Cleburne's weapon hadn't completely healed yet.

"I don't get it - what's that whelp doing 'ere? We fixed his little red wagon but good, back in Sunnyhell. And why here with them government blokes? IF he pulls through, he might finger us to the bloody coppers..." Spike shook his head. "Damn it, luv, this was supposed to be just a simple li'l job to get the Order of Taraka off our backs. But it's all bolloxed up now!"

Drusilla leaned over, and cupped Spike's face with her hand. "The kitten is no more, no he's not! He's all grown up nowadays. A cougar, a cougar he is! His fangs are sharp, and draw blood like red daisies..."

Spike looked at his girlfriend. "Him? He's not dangerous, sweets, not at all!" the guy protested.

Drusilla shook her head, listening to something only she could hear. "No, no, he's more dangerous than the little Slayer, Spike! The stars scream it out loud! And his pack, my precious 'eart, he's got a pack, a big one - and it's coming for blood..."

Spike had been with Drusilla long enough to know that important facts were often hidden in her rantings. "A pack, coming? The coppers. Come on then, luv..." He stood up and grabbed Dru, and the two of them went out the back of the bar - just a few minutes ahead of the Federal agents coming to clean house.

 **Cleveland, Ohio. The same time**

Detective Kate Lockley was trying to figure out just what she had done wrong, what kind of heinous sin she had committed in a past life.

Because there was no other explanation she could think of, as to why the brunette Slayer was coming on to her like this!

Kennedy was with Kate at a dance club, located close to the physical presence of the Hellmouth. It was one of the more usual places you could find the Chosen One these days, after all; she was the guardian of the place, and no demon was gonna open the darn portal on *her* watch.

However, thoughts of 'sacred duty' and whatnot were not currently foremost on the 18-year-old girl's mind; for tonight, the Slayer was really trying like crazy to seduce the police officer she was smitten with.

Kate had bought her a drink after a difficult patrol, a nonalcoholic one of course - despite Kennedy's pleas otherwise. And basically, it had just snowballed from there - Ms. Lockley was seriously thinking the teenager was about to simply throw herself at her prey out of frustration, and try to ravish her on the club floor...

When her prayers were answered, and the cop's cell phone rang.

"Lockley," Kate answered, as she listened to the voice on the other end. Her expression instantly changed, as she learned what had happened in Urbana. "I see. All right, I understand. I'll keep an eye out for the foreseeable future." The detective then disconnected, and put away the phone.

"Trouble?" Kennedy asked, dropping the sexual innuendo after seeing the expression on her companion's face.

"Yeah," Kate replied, but knowing she couldn't say anything about the all-hands-to-battlestations alert put out by STW. So she just said vaguely, "There's been a shooting in Illinois. A guy I know is fighting for his life in the hospital, and quite a few other people are dead."

 **Shadyhill Cemetery, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

Buffy hurriedly ran through the graveyard. She had spent nearly the last two hours looking for her sibling, throughout the town built upon the Hellmouth. And so far, she had been unsuccessful in her quest.

Buffy couldn't understand it. How the hell had Dawn managed to disappear like that, from the Summers home? What the blonde failed to realize was that the Key had picked up a lot of tricks as her little sister, ever since the monks had made her flesh and blood, and was currently putting them to good use.

In any case, Buffy had realized that if she was to find Dawn, she would need to reason out where her sister might have gone to. So, Buffy had started to think about how Dawn had learned the truth. Only she, Giles, Joyce and Willow had known the big secret; and the Slayer knew that none of the others would have told Dawn the cold hard facts, here.

So then, how had the youngest Summers woman learnt about the circumstances regarding her creation? Buffy had briefly thought that maybe it had been those monks who had created her human form, but almost instantly the Slayer had discounted that theory.

Because Dawn wouldn't have been *that* accepting of what those holy men would have told her; well, not this quickly anyway. However she had found out about the whole Key thing, from the way Dawn had acted - it was obvious she hadn't doubted the truth of it.

So it had to have been from someone that she knew, and trusted. Buffy hadn't told her, and neither had Joyce, Giles or Willow. The college girl couldn't think of who else was left to tell her.

Then Buffy had realized who it had to have been.

And that had led to her coming here.

Buffy saw that her hunch had indeed been correct; Dawn was sitting on the bench near Xander's tombstone. And Ms. Summers could clearly see that the Key had been crying.

Dawn looked up as she heard Buffy approach. "It's true. What Xander wrote - it's all true, isn't it?"

Buffy sat down next to Dawn. "Yeah, I'm afraid it is. Look, Dawn..."

"So do you know when, exactly?" Dawn suddenly asked, cutting her off.

"Sorry?" Buffy said in confusion.

"When did I just...pop into existence?" the brunette further clarified, a look of dread and yet also curiosity on her face.

"I'm not sure. From what Xander wrote, we think it was during last summer," Buffy explained. "Around the time Dracula came to town."

"So everything before that - never happened. It's not real," Dawn said, not noticing the cuts on her arm.

"Dawn, listen to me. Nothing has changed, as far as we're concerned," Buffy said, really wishing that Xander had been more explicit in his letters on how she had handled all this in the original history. "You're still Dawn Summers, you're still my sister and"

"No. I'm not human," Dawn interrupted her older sibling. "I'm not real!"

Buffy thought for a second. "Dawn, do you believe what Xander wrote?"

Dawn looked at her sister. "Well, yeah. I mean, you're sitting right here telling me that it's all true!"

Buffy nodded. "It is, all of it. Particularly what he wrote about how you're just as real as any of us! Remember that? 'Cause it kinda seems to me that you're completely ignoring that part."

Dawn just looked at her sibling, and tried to gather her thoughts. "Buffy...how long have you known? Who else knows? And why didn't you tell me?"

The Slayer sighed. "Um, ever since last November. Me, Mom, Giles and Willow. And as for why...well, do I really need to dignify that with an answer?" Buffy pointed at her sister's wounded arm, "We probably ought to take you to the hospital, and get that properly looked at."

"TELL ME!" Dawn suddenly shouted. "Why did you keep it a secret? I had a right to know! I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Dawn, come on, I'm sure you read what Xander mentioned in his letter. There was no *way* any of us wanted you to react like that, with those darn razor blades! And I'm sure it was absolutely a whole lot worse in the history that he remembered, what with that whole hellgod thing that was going on-" Buffy started to explain.

"Yeah, about that - why am I even here, if Xander took care of Glory? Why did those monks make me human, this time around?" the poor girl asked in fear, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

Buffy hesitated. "We don't know," she finally said. "I mean what with Mom having the tumor, and the Knights of Byzantium, and then the car accident, and well, *everything* else. I'm sorry, Dawn, but that hasn't exactly been my priority to try to figure out..."

"I bet you Xander would have known," Dawn ruminated. Then she got an odd look on her face. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, Dawnie?" the older sister said, suddenly getting a feeling of dread. {Whatever she's gonna say, betcha it won't be of the good.}

"You remember those dreams of Xander that I had, the ones that I thought for sure were real? The first one at your birthday party during January, and then the other one - the day that Kevin died...do you think that as the Key, I have the ability to talk to the dead?" Dawn had a very strange expression on her face.

The blonde girl's first instinct was to simply say "No", but then Buffy Anne Summers realized that it might actually be possible. There was just so much about the Key that she simply didn't know, and there was no doubt Dawn would remember any other lies from this point onwards *very* unfavorably. "I don't know, but I doubt it. I mean, you haven't had that sort of experience with anyone else, have you?"

"No, just him..." Then Dawn suddenly had an epiphany. "OH MY GOD!"

"What? What is it?" the Chosen One looked at her in alarm.

"I just realized...I, I've never even met Xander once in my entire life, have I? There's just...all those fake memories..."

Buffy knew she had to nip this in the bud, right now. "Dawn, listen to me..." She pulled up her sister's bloody arm and hand. "See this? It's Summers blood. It's just like mine. It doesn't matter where you came from, or how you got here. You are my sister, and I love you! And Xander knew that. He knew you! He said so in his letters. Those memories may not be the real deal, but so what? Bottom line, you are a member of this family."

Ms. Summers had to take a deep breath, after the big speech. "There's no way you could annoy me so much, if you weren't."

Dawn looked at her for a moment, then hugged her sister tightly. They both got teary-eyed as Dawn whispered, "I was so scared."

"I know, me too. And look at it from our viewpoint, huh? I mean, the baby of the family gets into trouble *again*..." Buffy tried to keep the smirk off her face, even as deep down she felt like sagging in relief.

"Hey!" Dawn broke the hug and backed off, starting to glare at her big sister.

"Come on," Buffy used her Slayer strength to lift Dawn off the bench. "Let's go home. I'm sure Mom's totally freaking by now!"

Dawn's eyes widened, "Oh. Uh, you think she's gonna be mad about the whole 'dripping blood all over the carpet' thing?"

The older girl shook her head. "I think you sorta have a Get-out-of-jail-free card on that one, on account of the big love and trauma."

The brunette started to grin. "Really? Okay. Good..." They started to walk out of the cemetery, holding hands. "Um, you think then she might raise my allowance?"

"With all the therapy bills coming our way, these days? Don't hold your breath on that one, sister dear."

 **Outskirts of Urbana, Illinois. Twenty minutes later**

The Illinois Highway Patrol trooper motioned for the next car in line to move forward, as the strobe lights of the police cruisers behind him flashed. The driver of the van rolled down his window, and looked at him in confusion.

"Evening, Officer. What's the problem?" the motorist asked.

The policeman flashed his flashlight into the interior of the van, as he approached. Off to the side, two other officers watched the vehicle in question. The driver noticed that all of the cops had at least one hand near their holstered weapons, as he then heard Cleburne's cover story.

"Manhunt for a child killer. Man and a woman, punk rocker Goth types. Armed and dangerous," the officer answered, peering into the van the whole time. The cop then turned his full attention to the driver. "You seen anyone like that?'

The driver shook his head. "No, no, I've not seen anything since I left the store. I'm just taking these rugs up to Chicago, see, and Goth types aren't much help in moving rugs or anything else in my experience, for that matter."

The officer nodded and gestured, "Okay, move on, but take my advice - don't stop for hitchhikers."

"Thanks, I won't."

The van drove off. A few minutes later, the officers heard the approach of another vehicle. Again, the patrol officer signaled for the car to stop. A few seconds' explanation was given, and the same question was then asked as for the earlier driver.

"Oh, yeah, there was those two weirdos who jumped onto a moving van - maybe they're the people you're looking for? And the way they moved, it was like nothing I'd ever seen before! I'd say it was about ten minutes before I got here, so - guess the van should have gotten here before me."

The cop glanced at his brother officers before asking, "What did these weirdos look like, exactly?"

"One of 'em I think was a guy, he had platinum-blonde hair - kinda looked like Billy Idol. The other one was wearing some kind of old-fashioned dress-"

"That's them!" the officer said, as he reached to the mike on his shoulder. "And that van said it was going to Chicago..."

 **Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana, Illinois. The same time**

The trauma surgeon and his fellow doctors worked frantically to save the life of the person they knew as 'Alexander Howard', who was in fact the one and only Alexander Lavelle Harris.

So far, it was not going well. The initial round of surgery had been moderately successful, stopping the bleeding and removing the lead pellets in his back, but the delay in getting Xander to medical care and the severity of his wounds had caused complications - that had required another round of surgery.

"Constitution of a bull," one of the residents muttered to himself. "Ordinary man would have checked out hours ago."

The doctors and nurses did their best, in the finest traditions of the Hippocratic oath. However, Harris was very badly injured and they were only human...

And so, almost inevitably, the horrible droning noise of Xander's heart rate flatlining was heard throughout the operating theater.

"Give me 50 cc's of adrenaline, inject it directly into the pericardial sac - stat!" the lead chest-cutter shouted, as the team went into code blue status.

"Out of the way!" one of the doctors shouted a few moments later, as he brought the paddles of the electrical stimulator over to Xander's prone form. "Charging to 200. Clear!"

The former Scooby was zapped with a lot of electricity, as his body convulsed. But there was no effect on his medical status, according to the EKG machine.

"Two hundred and fifty!" A pause. "Clear!"

Again, nothing.

"I think we lost him..."

 **Elsewhere, elsewhen**

"Hello?" Xander shouted into the darkness. "Hello!"

The young man wasn't sure what was going on, or even what had happened exactly. All around him there was a complete lack of light, and yet he could see his own body clearly...

But slowly, the memories started coming back. Rachael. The Wizard. Cleburne...

Spike.

{Oh man, he shot me. That undead son of a bitch *shot* me! } Xander fumed, as all the memories of that particular male vampire suddenly overwhelmed his mind. {To think I practically forgot about that bloodsucker, over the past year or so.}

Well, it wasn't entirely his fault of course. This 'virgin territory' Harris had helped create had its downside as well as its upside, and Spike and Dru were definitely part of the former. And Xander *couldn't* have known what they were going to get up to tonight, of course, as Spike should have been in Sunnydale right now - grieving over Buffy's death...

"Anybody here?" Xander called out again, ceasing to think about all that - for the moment.

The sound of a response in an unfamiliar language caused Xander to turn around, and he saw standing close by a silver-haired gentleman, who was staring at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Xander said. "What did you-"

"He said, no need to shout. He can hear you."

Xander turned to his right, and his eyes almost bulged out. {Faith?}

The dark-haired young man stared at the 17-year-old girl incredibly intensely. He couldn't be sure for a moment if this wasn't the First Evil again, corrupting her memory, but looking into her eyes...suddenly, in an instant, Harris had no more doubts.

The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all, and there could be no hiding or disguising who she really was from 'the one who sees'. "FAITH!"

"Yo, stud, what did I say about shouting?" the dark-haired Slayer asked, almost sardonically.

Xander quickly moved over and hugged Faith firmly. He then started kissing her, *very* intensely, and the female soul returned his attentions whole-heartedly...when all of a sudden, Harris pulled back. "Wait a minute - you're dead!"

Faith looked sad for a second. "Yeah, major bummer. Still, despite that - it's real good to see you again, boy toy."

"I'm not..." Xander stammered.

"Well, kinda," Faith said apologetically. "You could still go either way, though. Uh - remember that idiotic TV show you made me watch, once? Well, to paraphrase, currently you're...metabolically challenged. And a bunch of us over at the 19th tee, we felt it happen. So we want to talk to you about...an offer."

"Nineteenth tee? You're into golf now?" Xander asked in confusion.

"Well - up there, you have a lot of time on your hands and it's kinda fun, but enough about that! You've got a decision to make," Faith replied.

The silver-haired man spoke again. Faith nodded, "That's right. He said."

"He said something like I've earned my reward, but I need to decide if I want to accept it," Xander finished for the brunette girl.

Faith placed her arms on her hips, unconsciously looking sexy as hell; just as Xander remembered her, from both timelines. "Okay, how did you know that?"

"Been busy hanging with some people who speak Latin, even that sort of weird dialect. They taught me the lingo, just took me a moment to recognize it," Xander explained. "How about you, though? You don't strike me as someone who would pick up a dead language for fun."

"Well, I *am* dead, remember? Plus, Catholic school for the first few years of my education," Faith replied, with a small smirk.

"Catholic school?" Xander smirked right back at her.

Faith suddenly frowned. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Just thinking that back in Sunnydale, you never showed me your Catholic schoolgirl outfit," Xander replied with a completely straight face.

"Xander!" Faith exclaimed and slapped her one-time boyfriend upside the head.

{Pardon me, but time grows short - and you need to decide quickly,} the older man said.

"Yeah, right. Look, Xand, fact is you've done quite a bit of good in the time since you came back," Faith said. "And sacrificing yourself in the end, to save a kid that way? You've earned the big trip upstairs."

Xander looked confused. "Trip upstairs? What do you mean? Wait a minute...I'm dead, aren't I?"

"At the moment, yeah - you are," Faith said, but quickly reassured her former boyfriend, "However, it's not permanent-"

"I shoulda known. Why is it death is never a permanent thing, with people like us?" Xander asked in exasperation. "First Buffy, now me?"

Faith laughed for a moment and then continued on, "Thing is, stud, if you choose to come with us - you don't have to go back. You can get into Heaven. You've earned it."

That remark completely stunned Xander. "But...I've killed people. I'm a murderer," he said in disbelief. "Suddenly, that's all forgiven?"

"Yeah, about that - look, I can see where you think you broke one of the big guy's ten commandments and all. But point is - you didn't enjoy it, did you? Basically, you did what you did because you couldn't think of anything else, any other *sure* way to prevent disaster, in the time frame you had left before you had to ditch the 'mouth..."

The young woman went on, "Was that murder? Believe it or not, not every killing is defined as that. And how did you benefit from what you did? You saved lives down the line. So kinda like a police sniper, you can argue mitigating circumstance. Besides, sweetheart, you drank from the Holy Grail - remember? And you've seen the movies often enough to know, that that's the great big cup of automatic forgiveness right there," Faith said passionately.

Suddenly Xander looked suspiciously at her. "What?" the dead Slayer asked in confusion.

"Something...doesn't quite make sense here. If I've earned it, if my sins are forgiven and this is my eternal reward and all - then why are we even bothering to have this conversation? Why didn't I just wake up in Heaven, with you?" he asked.

{I told you. And his time is almost up,} the silver-haired gentleman spoke up, suddenly staring at Xander intensely.

And just as suddenly, the young man understood. "You're hoping I'll say no, aren't you? Who are you?"

There were a few moments of silence until Faith said, "One of the head honchos for our side in this game, his name's Enoch - but that's all I'm allowed to say. Look, Xander, we can discuss it later; please. Come with us."

Slowly Xander shook his head and said, "'Fraid I'm starting to get it, Faith. See, there was something from the movie ' _Young Guns II_ '; I can't recall anymore exactly what Emilio Estevez said, but I think it went something like; 'Three cowboys are playing poker after riding into town, when this guy runs up to them and says, "Hey, the world's coming to an end!" And the first one says, "Well, I'm gonna head over to the church-house and pray," and the second one says, "Hell, I'm gonna go get liquored up and find me a couple of whores!" But the third one just looks at them and says real calmly, "Let's finish the game."' So I can't help thinking, if I quit the game now...what are the odds the First Evil wins?"

"Xander, please," Faith had tears in her eyes now. "I don't want you to die, but I don't want to lose you either! Do you have any idea what my concept of Heaven is? Being married to you, and us raising our child together!"

Xander swallowed at that. He was silent for a few seconds, but then said, "What happens if I go with you?"

"You're with me forever, living the dream," Faith replied earnestly.

"No, I don't mean in terms of you and me, but the people I leave behind - like Oz and Fred. After all, just because I head off for a better place, doesn't mean the bad guys are gonna stop their...hanky-panky," Xander demanded.

Faith and Enoch exchanged a glance. "What!? Tell me!" Xander said sharply.

{There are no certainties,} Enoch said.

"But you have some knowledge, or you at least suspect something," Xander said accusingly. "You know there isn't gonna be a happy ending here!"

Faith sighed in defeat. "The First is on the march, thanks to what it's learned about the original history; you've delayed it somewhat."

"But not stopped it?" Xander finished.

Faith shook her head. "No, it's still following its plan. Maybe a year or two slowed down, is all."

"So who's going to stop it?" Xander asked.

{There are many Champions,} Enoch said cryptically.

"That's no answer, I *know* there are many champions! I've met a lot of them, and been around them for years. Some of them were even friends, and a few of them still are. Will they stop the First?"

{There are no guarantees,} Enoch responded.

"But the chances of stopping it aren't too great, either. The Champions still aren't unified, and there's gonna be...distractions. The First will be able to do the old 'divide and conquer' dodge," Faith explained, looking like she was sucking on a lemon the whole time.

"The First wins?"

{Perhaps, It will have an easier time than if.}

"If I live," Xander finished for Enoch. "If I go back, there's a better chance of stopping it. I come with you, and the enemy has an easier time of it making the world its playpen. That's the bottom line?"

"Like he said, there's no guarantee of anything," Faith pleaded. "And you've suffered enough, already! Let the others like B and Angel take up the burden-"

"Unity," Xander mused.

"What are you talkin' about, sweetheart?" Faith has a puzzled look on her face.

"This demon named Whistler, you may have met him, he told me in my dream quest a while ago that my gift was unity. As in, I unify the Champions?"

"Hey, I know about all that stupid vision quest stuff! But you've been there, and done that, and you've given them that lameass example of unifying they needed! You were the key to that damn meeting in Iceland-" Faith tried to argue.

"That's not enough," Xander said almost in wonder, as full realization hit him. "I'm still needed there, aren't I? My work isn't done yet..." He looked at the sad brunette, and then gently hugged her.

Faith, her eyes glistening, looked at Xander. "You're going back, aren't you? I can't get you to come with me?"

This was quite possibly the hardest thing the young man had ever had to do; and that included leaving Anya at the altar, lying to Buffy about the soul curse, and having to kill people in cold blood. So he just said, "Faith, do you *really* believe that the man you loved could just turn his back and not do what he had to do, knowing what's coming?"

Faith slowly shook her head, anger and frustration on her face. "No. The Xander Harris I know wouldn't do that. Not the guy I fell in love with."

"Then you should also know that however much I want to stay with you forever, I can't. Not yet..." the White Knight said simply.

Faith stepped back, apparently giving up. "I'm so sorry, Xander. More than you'll ever know."

Xander said comfortingly, "Faith."

"No, lemme finish. See, once I'm back where I belong, I won't remember any of this; I told you, Heaven for me is being with you for all eternity. But you *will* remember what you chose to give up. And you'll have to live with that."

Suddenly reminded of Buffy's situation way back when, Xander glanced at Enoch, but saw no sign of contradiction on the man's face. "Well, if I have to, I have to," he said resolutely. "It's gonna be painful, I know, but I'll get past it if that's what it takes-"

"Promise me something, then?" Faith looked so sad, as if saying farewell forever.

"What?"

"Make peace with those three idiots, before it's too late - again. Do the whole forgive and forget routine, for me?"

His beloved having thrown the cat amongst the pigeons, Xander just said tightly, "I don't like making promises I don't know if I can keep, Faith, even for you."

Faith's expression didn't change. "Yeah, well, I knew that - but you should know that they still love you, boy toy. Oh, man, I swear - way things are going, I wouldn't ever want to be in their shoes...look, stud, just don't forget that you shouldn't ever give up on love. And I guess this is g'bye, so take care."

Enoch nodded at Xander. {May His blessings be upon you, Defender of Mankind.}

"And be sure to watch your back, Xander!" a third familiar and female voice then said.

Xander turned around, and saw Rachael Weitz standing there. {What, how?}

A sudden horrible realization came to the mind of young Mr. Harris, as yet another part of Buffy's Slayer dream from months ago came to pass. Before he could say anything, though, the scene faded away and Xander knew nothing more...for a while.

 **Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana, Illinois. The same time**

The medical team had been trying to resuscitate Xander for nearly five minutes, before finally giving up the good fight. One of the doctors said in defeat, "That's it, I'm calling it - time of death, 2:32 am-"

Just then, two things happened.

Monsignor Randall Bentallo, who had been racing to find the warrior trapped out of time after reading something Nostradamus had written about him so long ago, burst into the operating theater.

He was just in time to witness Xander's corpse convulse and arch spastically, as the body began to draw in breath upon the soul's return; and the machines went crazy with activity, indicating that a miracle had somehow taken place.

"We've got a pulse, it's weak but steady!" one of the interns said in disbelief, as Bentallo crossed himself - and thanked his Maker that he wouldn't have to administer last rights, after all.

The medical people quickly shook off their paralysis, and swung into gear to do what they could to stabilize their patient. "I'm definitely reading brain activity..."

"Blood pressure's rising, approaching normal threshold limits-"

"His Q, R and X-waves are going crazy here - no, wait, they're settling down."

The Catholic official quickly tuned the technobabble out, though. He was far too busy trying to figure out just *how* he was going to explain all this to His Holiness...without it sounding like the Second Coming, already...

 **Conference Room, Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana. Half an hour later**

Joshua Cleburne listened to someone on the phone, as all around him the room was a hive of activity. There was a search to organize for the two missing vampires, of course. But there was also the matter of 'handling' what had happened here in the hospital, tonight...

By this point, the rumors had already started flying about all over the place about the 'miracle patient', who had come back from something *very* few people ever did. And Esther Marcum for one knew there was no point in trying to get the staff to shut up about it; the damage was already done, and they could only hope the media wouldn't now get involved...

As soon as Xander Harris was fit to travel they were going to air-lift him out of here, and move to an STW hospital. And hopefully just ride out the whole 'coming back from the dead' thing, until something else got its 15 minutes in America.

"Okay, spread the search out another 50 miles. Give the cover story to the media, and get all the local law enforcement agencies on board," Cleburne said, before he hung up the telephone.

"Well?" Esther asked.

"Local cops found the body of the driver of the van they think Spike and Drusilla hitched a ride on, about 50 miles north of here. The driver went through a checkpoint, and told the officers he was headed towards Chicago," Cleburne explained.

"You think they're still headed towards Chicago?" the black woman then asked.

Cleburne scratched his forehead. "Makes sense. It's the closest urban area with a large demon populace they can blend into, or try to anyway."

Esther raised an eyebrow. "Try to?"

Cleburne turned to Red. "You're in charge till I get back. And tell Gunny to meet me downstairs; we're going hunting."

 **Los Angeles, California. A few minutes later**

"One thing about vampires not breathing, you don't have to worry about bad breath," Gunn declared as he wrestled one of the undead. "'Course, you shouldn't get close enough to a vamp to have to worry about that..."

A baseball bat hit the back of the vampire's head, and allowed Gunn to shove a stake into its heart. The bloodsucker just grunted, as it turned to dust.

"Thanks, man" Gunn said to the Lost Boy wielding the bat. "Hey, I thought I told you to hang back!" Charles then said, as he recognized his helper as a pre-teenager he had cautioned to stay out of harm's way before the fighting.

"Hell no, G - I owe these bloodsuckers!" the Lost Boy known as Reggie said, as he hurried to attack another vampire. Gunn sighed as he recognized another orphan from the vampire attacks on the 'hood, one that reminded him way too much of himself in the old days.

Gunn looked around, as the Lost Boys fought the nest of vampires. Earlier that night, Gunn has gotten a call from his people; they had tracked down a vampire nest that had been preying on the society not glimpsed by the normal people of southern California.

The Lost Boys had been planning to attack the nest, and wanted Gunn and his truck to come along for the ride. Gunn had immediately agreed, hoping that the tension of what had happened with George and Rondell could finally be put to rest, and had convinced Gwen to come along to help; Angel and the others were unavailable, involved in trying to find a demon who was running a extortion racket. Gunn had promised to keep in touch and to come help them if needed.

And watching how everything was going, the former gang leader figured he and Gwen would be able to join up with the Fang Gang before too long.

The Lost Boys were easily dispatching the vampires. From what Gunn could tell, most of the vamps had been newbies. Gunn's old running buddies had been benefiting from the supplies given to them by their mysterious benefactor; and the only reason Reggie had been carrying a bat, instead of another type of weapon, was that he was supposed to have remained outside the abandoned warehouse and not rushed in.

The sound of a cell phone ringing caused Gunn to move towards Gwen. She answered the phone in question, "Raiden."

The woman listened for a few seconds. "What? Damn! Okay, what do you need me to do?" She listened for a few more seconds. "No, he's not with me right now."

Gunn was now worried, and listened to the one side of the conversation he could hear. "Well, he might have an idea or two, I'll find him and call you back."

Gwen hung up the phone. "Come on, we need to find Angel!" She started running and Gunn hurried after her, after seeing the battle was almost over and telling a guy named Chain that he had to go.

"What's wrong?" Gunn managed to ask, as he finally caught up to the thief.

"I need to find the boss of our little outfit, a vampire he used to run with is causing problems - and I need to find out what Angel can tell us, about what that particular vamp might do next," Gwen explained.

As the two ran out of the warehouse, Gunn noticed the view - and with some amusement, decided that running behind Gwen's ass was something he could very easily come to enjoy...

 **Recovery Room, Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana. May 15, 2001**

Xander took in a deep breath, as he awoke. He felt the IV needle in his arm, and instantly recognized it for what it was with a quick sensation of absolute loathing. His right hand instinctively went to his left arm, to yank it out.

"Don't pull the needles out. You need them where they are."

Xander turned his head and looked at Oz, who had addressed him. He then saw Fred, who was standing behind the musician/werewolf. "What happened?" the patient asked in a croaking voice.

"You took a shotgun blast in the back, for Hollins. Don't worry, though, he's all right. He was in here earlier; poor kid is still freaked out, but getting shot at will do that to you. And you've been in a coma since yesterday," Oz explained in his trademark calm way.

Xander blinked for a second. And then he *remembered*.

Faith. Enoch. The conversation they'd had, and even though he'd not seen any white light at the end of that dark tunnel.

"Rachael?" Harris asked in dread.

Oz and Fred exchanged a glance. "Don't worry about that for now." the Texan woman started to say soothingly.

"No, I want to know now!" Xander croaked, yet sounding firm. {Please, no, don't let what I saw be real.}

Fred swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry Xander, but she died yesterday...the same vampire who wounded you killed her, with that shotgun of his..."

The last fragments of uncertainty vanished from his mind, as a seething hatred - unlike anything he had ever known - was born in the heart of Alexander Lavelle Harris.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Forty-two**

 **Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. May 16, 2001**

"Oy, give me another one!" Spike said grumpily, as he pushed the shot glass back across the bar to the bartender.

The bartender eyed Spike for a second, and then took the glass. "Money up front."

Spike pulled a nice little chunk of cash out from his black leather duster pocket, grimacing. The bartender nodded, pulled a bottle out from underneath the bar and poured a shot. "What about your friend?" he asked, nodding at Drusilla.

"Keep yer bloody eyes to yaself, mate!" Spike semi-snarled, taking offense at the barkeep's leery attitude as he downed the shot. "You don't know who you're messin' with."

"Someone who likes to flash a big wad of bills around?" the bartender said, with a raised eyebrow. "You might want to be careful doing that around here, pal. Someone might decide to take the money from you."

Drusilla momentarily entered the conversation from the stool next to Spike, before going back to her own little world. "No they won't, not 'ere, not now."

Spike actually puffed his chest out, having had a few drinks too many to have the best judgement right now. "Yeah, they don't want to mess with me! D'you know who I am? I'm the one the Order of Taraka sends out, when things get too hot for their regular killers. I'm the specialist, I am!"

"Yeah, right," the bartender said nonchalantly, having heard it all before. "That ancient order of assassins trusts *you* with their big jobs? I don't see no ring on your finger."

Spike leaned in towards the bartender, deciding to embellish a little. "I'm undercover, mate. That's how they don't ever see me coming!"

"Yeah, they can just smell you instead." his companion retorted.

Spike glared at the bartender, but he didn't flinch. Tending bar at this particular demon hangout hardened one to various unspoken threats, besides - the bouncer was nearby, and no one messed with a demon that big.

Behind him, the television played the jingle for the WGN evening news. "Good evening, welcome to WGN News at Nine. I'm Steve Sanders."

"And I'm Allison Payne. The top story tonight is the ongoing massive manhunt here in the Windy City, for a couple accused of murdering a child in Urbana."

Spike looked up to the television in response to that. The black woman anchor continued talking, "Authorities announced today that the couple, shown here in these artist sketches, are believed to be hiding somewhere in the Chicago urban area."

Allison went on seamlessly, "In a further development - the driver of a rug delivery van who left Urbana the night of the murder was found killed, and his van was subsequently discovered a few miles south of downtown Chicago; it's now believed that this killing also occurred, thanks to these two people. The child murder, which also resulted in a number of other deaths, took place in public on the campus of a school for gifted children; so police are saying that the pair is to be considered dangerous, and should not be approached. If you spot them, you should not go near either of these people, but immediately call the authorities."

The bartender put two and two together, then he looked at William the Bloody and chuckled. "Yeah, real undercover." he quipped.

"Bollocks," Spike growled, for staring at him on the screen was a crude drawing of both himself and Drusilla.

Dru woke up again, came up behind Spike and looked at the screen. "Ooooh, they got my eyes right," she said happily.

The bartender didn't respond to that, as he drifted off and started polishing some glasses; bottom line, he simply didn't get too torn up over what his patrons did. It wasn't like he was human or anything, after all.

Dru continued talking, "The stars, luv."

"What about the bloody stars?" Spike asked irritably.

"They say others are coming, the wildcat's pack and the pack of the she-wolf. They're coming, and bringing fire."

"Damn," Spike muttered. He rubbed his leg, where Cleburne's bullet was still annoying him; despite his having fed on a number of people recently, to restore his strength. "Guess we should vacate sooner rather than later, then."

"Do we 'ave to, my precious Spoike? I like this city. It hums and it wheezes, it does, and the air goes bang like pop goes the weasel."

The male vamp smirked, reminded of the bloodshed and mayhem he and his paramour had wreaked here back in 1933; in that light, it was no *wonder* why Dru liked Chicago so much. Heck, he liked the place too.

But in this case, discretion was probably the better part of valor, and William didn't relish going up against those government people with no minions or power base. "Another time, pet...we'd best get out of this sodding country, least for a while. Hmmm, maybe Europe would be nice."

 **O'Hare Airport, Chicago, Illinois. The same time**

Joshua Cleburne fidgeted, as the jetliner pulled into the hangar. He was not looking forward to this.

"Roughest part of the job," Gunny commented.

"Never get used to it," Cleburne replied. "'Course with this one, well, the old man..." The Marine colonel's voice trailed off, as the door to the plane opened up and a mobile staircase was pushed up to it.

A couple of tough-looking men exited the plane and made their way down the mobile staircase, their eyes scanning the area and on the lookout for trouble. A few seconds later, an elderly balding man with tufts of white hair on the side of his head followed them. He made his way slowly down the stairs, and was met at the foot of them by Cleburne.

"Hello, old man," the secret agent said in greeting. "I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances."

"What happened?" was the question without preamble.

"Vampires tried an assassination at the Institute. She took a shotgun blast to the chest, trying to protect Alexander Howard," Cleburne explained, using Xander's current alias.

"Did Harris live?" the elderly Mr. Weitz asked simply.

Cleburne scowled at the use of that name, but quickly let it go. This wasn't the time to get into that sort of thing, after all. "It was touch and go for a while there, but he's pulled through. We're moving him later today, to the clinic in Leesburg."

The old spymaster nodded. "Who was the target?"

"We're not sure, could have been either the kid or Dr. Hollins. It's one of the first questions I intend to ask, when we catch the vampires in question," Cleburne said through gritted teeth.

"Do you know who they were?" Weitz stared intently at Cleburne.

"Yes, they're named Spike and Drusilla."

"I've heard of them, from Rachael's reports. Your Mr. Harris has quite the history with them, doesn't he? And they were part of the group called the Scourge of Europe, along with the ones called Angelus and Darla?" Weitz said in a questioning tone. Then he snorted, "Amateurs, compared to Himmler, Heydrich, Eichmann and Hitler. Now there was a real scourge of Europe! Who also happened to kill a lot of my family."

Cleburne shifted uncomfortably at that. Weitz continued speaking, "Where is she?"

"The hospital morgue in Urbana. We're making arrangements to have her brought here to Chicago, to..." Cleburne's voice trailed off.

"Send her home. Yes," Weitz finished, as behind him several more men de-planed. Weitz took a breath and continued, "I do have one request, Joshua Elijah. We want to be in on the hunt for Spike and Drusilla-"

Cleburne nodded. "Of course, I never doubted it for a second! We've got a lead or two here in town, we believe they're hiding somewhere in the city. I was about to go ask some questions."

"And I want to see him."

Cleburne was confused at Weitz's question. "Excuse me?"

"Alexander Harris, I want to see him. I know that my organization isn't considered the most trustworthy right now, thanks to that *foolish* plan to hit your young prophet with those drugs , but I think I've earned the right by blood for one personal meeting with the man." Weitz had a neutral expression on his face, that betrayed nothing. He may as well have been talking about the weather, of late.

Joshua stared at his old...friend...for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose you have. All right, I'll make the arrangements," Cleburne replied.

"Her mother." Weitz started.

"I know, I know," Cleburne replied wearily. "I don't know how the hell we can ever explain this to her!"

 **Chicago City Hall, Chicago, Illinois. May 17, 2001**

Chicago Police Department chief Terrence Lonnan stepped up to the microphone, as the cameras from the various television stations recorded the scene. Behind Lonnan stood several law enforcement officials, who appeared appropriately grim and grieving.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. As I'm sure all of you would know, the search for the Urbana child murderers is still in progress at this time. I'm here with representatives of the various law enforcement agencies involved in the manhunt, to appeal for the help of the general populace in finding these animals. I am also announcing at this time that a reward of $100,000 is being offered, for any information leading to their capture. The conviction of the individuals sought is not required in order to claim the reward, only their capture." On the wall behind the officials, were the artist sketches of Spike and Drusilla.

Lonnan finished his presentation, and then started to answer questions from the reporters. About ten minutes into the conference, an older reporter wearing a straw hat waved the tape recorder he was holding, in order to get recognized.

"Chief Lonnan, any comment on the fact that the two suspects being sought today are *dead ringers* for the suspects in the World Fair murder spree, that rocked Chicago back during 1933?"

Lonnan didn't even try to hide the fact that he rolled his eyes, at hearing this question. "Mr. Kolchak, this is about an ongoing investigation here in the 21st century. We'll look in the history books *after* we've caught these two murderers!"

The police chief then sighed. "This is a serious call for the help of the people, not a chance to spin various theories from the X-Files."

 **Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. Later that night**

The demon picked up the pay phone, as he looked behind him. "Hello, you want information on those two child killers you're looking for? You give me all the money, I can give you where they are."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

"Dawn, Buffy, dinner's ready!" Joyce Summers called out from the kitchen.

She turned back to the kitchen counter, leaning on the cane as she did so. It pleased the middle-aged woman to have finally done this simple task on her own, something she would have just taken for granted last year...

Her physical therapy was coming along nicely, and Joyce was now able to hobble for very short periods of time on her cane. Long enough for her to cook dinner for her children, anyway. Her doctors were hopeful that come summer, she would be able to rely exclusively on the cane...

She heard a pair of feet coming down the staircase, and soon Buffy entered the kitchen. "Hey mom, what's for dinner?"

"Lasagna," Joyce replied with a smile. "It's a new recipe that Teresa over at the physical therapy center gave me."

"Cool," Buffy said. "And y'know, after the day I had at college - I could use a full meal before going out on patrol!"

"What does Rupert have you working on tonight?" Joyce asked.

The Slayer noted for a moment that, oddly enough, the familiarity with her Watcher didn't disturb her in the slightest anymore. {Just as long as Giles doesn't move in here, anytime soon.} "We think some newbies have set up shop in the warehouse district. We're going to do a standard sweep, see if we can nail down where they've set up camp," Buffy explained.

"You be careful," Joyce warned her eldest daughter. "Where's Dawn?"

Buffy looked up at the ceiling. "She *was* in her room."

Joyce leaned back from the table. "Dawn. Dinner's ready!" she shouted.

After a few seconds she was rewarded by the sound of stomping feet upstairs, that soon came down the stairs. Dawn then came into the kitchen, glaring at her mother as she did so.

It had been a rough three days, ever since the Key had found out the truth about herself. After Buffy had brought Dawn home that horrible night, there had been tears, and shouting, and quite a number of recriminations, that had led to a major snit on Dawn's behalf, which was hardly a surprise.

All of which had turned the young brunette into a sullen, moody and emotional teenager. Well, even more than she already was.

Joyce sighed to herself. {This is going to be difficult. Dawn finding out about how she really came into our lives, it's going to be almost impossible to deal with! And it's not like I can take her to a psychiatrist! Imagine even trying to explain the problem.}

Dawn sat down at the table wordlessly. Joyce made her way to the table as well, and did likewise. {I just wish there was someone out there, who could help her come to terms with all this.}

 **Demon Bar, Chicago, Illinois. May 18, 2001**

Not long after midnight, Cleburne opened the door and walked into the establishment, followed by Gunny. The duo made their way to the main bar, as all eyes in the establishment tracked them. The bartender stared at them, cleaning a glass, as they arrived at their destination.

"What do you want?" the bartender said to the two Marines.

"We're here to meet someone," Cleburne replied. "Shifty type, male, speaks with a lousy deep throat imitation. Anyone here fit the bill?"

The bartender smirked. "Oh, you're the ones here to meet with Ronnie! Sorry, he's all torn up about not being able to meet you in person. Well, in a complete person."

The barkeep nodded at the wall at the other end of bar. There was a plaque with the head of demon on it, like a hunting trophy. The head was that of Ronnie, who had been the one to make the earlier call to the authorities.

"Some of the patrons overheard him making the phone call," the bartender explained.

Cleburne's demeanor didn't change. "We're here for information about Spike and Drusilla." He slid a drawing of the two of them across the bar.

The bartender didn't even look down. "Don't care for humans."

"You need to," Gunny said, for he had an inkling of what was about to happen.

A growl came from their left, "Look, blood bags, we don't care what you want, and I ain't gonna shed any tears over some dead human kid! Matter of fact, we don't like the way you lousy humans are sticking your noses into our business. So we're going to send a message here," a vampire said forcefully, as the other customers of the bar started to stand up.

Cleburne looked around. "Well, to be honest, I'm just not in the mood to give you people a choice about doing it the easy way or the hard way. You, you, you, you and you." He pointed at five of the smaller demons and vampires. "You alone are going to walk out of here, to spread the word among your kind. And that is, as long as you shelter Spike and Drusilla, you will know no peace. Either give them up, or pay the price."

"Puny little human!" the bouncer that had earlier given Spike pause growled, as it lumbered towards Cleburne.

He grabbed the Marine, and lifted him up in a bear hug. Joshua shoved a pistol into the bouncer's side with his right hand; a muffled shot could be heard, as Cleburne's left hand then jammed itself into the bouncer's face. The demon dropped Cleburne and stepped back, with a puzzled look on its face.

The bartender grinned at the secret agent. "Now you've done it, you just made him mad."

The bouncer coughed loudly. Instantly, the bartender looked concerned, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"It's the hand grenade I just stuffed down its throat. I shot it, just to get it to open its mouth! You might want to duck." Cleburne said hurriedly, as he heeded his own advice.

The bouncer's eyes opened wide, as its head suddenly exploded apart, blood and brains flew in all directions with a loud bang, in a display that would have done the special effects of Hollywood proud. The dead body fell to its knees with an audible thud, and then collapsed forward onto the floor.

The demons and vampires in the bar looked in shock at what had happened. The bouncer was infamous in the local community for being unbeatable, against anything that chose to fight it. Cleburne though just climbed to his knees, and looked at the demons and vampires that he had pointed to as being the ones to be allowed to leave the bar intact.

"Run. Now," he said flatly.

Two of the selected vampires (who had been teenage girls in mortal life) sitting at the same table looked at each other, and instantly bolted for the door. Neither Cleburne nor Gunny made any move to stop them.

"Damn it! Get 'em!" the bartender shouted out to the rest of his patrons.

"Your funerals," Gunny muttered, as the denizens of the bar rushed towards the two Marines. "He's got a lot more grenades."

 **Half an hour later**

Firefighters fought the fiery blaze, as it threatened to engulf the whole block. The demon hangout was now history, after Cleburne, Gunny and their backup had gone to town on the poor bastards.

A yugo pulled up to the front of the building, where the police had set up a cordon. A young redheaded woman jumped out of the car, carrying a tape recorder with a camera hanging around her neck. She ran along the cordon to where police Chief Lonnan was meeting with other reporters.

The woman bore a distinct resemblance to the reporter who had earlier annoyed Lonnan with his question. The cop in question saw her coming and mentally sighed, but he went ahead with talking to the crowd of reporters anyway - as his job required him to do.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the full details aren't available at this time, but I can confirm that earlier tonight we received a tip that the Urbana child killers were in a bar at this location. Officers investigating the tip had to engage in a gun battle with the patrons of the establishment, and SWAT was called in. The fire you see behind me is the apparent result of the exchange of gunfire."

"What about the suspects?" one of the television reporters asked.

"We've not been able to identify them yet, however it is our belief that they were able to leave the establishment before the fire broke out," Lonnan answered. "We're still urging the public to keep an eye out for them, and to notify law enforcement if they're sighted."

"Any fatalities?" another reporter asked.

Lonnan shook his head. "No officers were harmed, but it's unclear about the patrons in the bar right now."

"Chief Lonnan, can you explain the fact that the suspects seem to be the same ones who committed the World Fair murders back in '33?" the redheaded woman shouted.

"Well, I'll admit, it's possible that maybe it's their grandchildren, as kids *do* sometimes pick up the bad habits of their parents." Lonnan wisecracked, to the chuckling of the press corps.

The redheaded woman frowned. "Chief, if you look..." she started to say, before being interrupted.

"Miss Kolchak, please. I had to put up with your father's questions during the press conference earlier! Do you really believe that the same people from almost over 70 years ago haven't aged a day, and are now back in town killing people? If so, you guys over at Independent News Service have been watching the X-Files too much!" Lonnan snapped. He seemed to have to use the X-Files comment quite a bit, whenever a Kolchak was around.

He then smoothly went on, "Tell you what, I'll help you guys out with a bona fide scoop. The Mayor has authorized an additional reward in the amount of $100,000 for information leading to the arrest or apprehension of the Urbana child killers, bringing the total amount to $200,000."

Lonnan inwardly smiled at that, as the increased money would guarantee that nearly every eye in the city would soon be looking for this pair that the Feds wanted *very* badly, for some reason. Well, those two *did* deserve to fry for what they'd done, so why not? It was all good publicity for the CPD, anyway.

 **Fifteen minutes later**

Joan Kolchak cursed to herself, as she dodged the firefighters. Lonnan had expertly derailed her line of questioning, with his announcement of the increase in the award. The other reporters had gone ape over that, and she hadn't been able to get another question in edgeways.

So, in true Kolchak style, she had decided to sneak past the police cordon and see what she could find out for herself.

Firehoses made the street an obstacle course, though. Cursing again, Joan stepped over them, somehow ignored in the activity going on within the street confines as the firefighters finished putting out the fire.

She kept to the edges of the activity, managing to not get noticed for several minutes. She then spotted a van with its doors open, and Joan saw that two men were taking off body armor, and storing away weapons.

They looked to have been in the thick of things, and Joan noticed that their uniforms were caked with some kind of green goo. She started walking over to them.

"This is never going to come out!" the shorter one of the two remarked. "These uniforms are ruined, may as well turf them right now."

The taller one looked askew at the other one. The shorter one shrugged, "What? Marie is constantly complaining about me not helping out around the house, so I've started doing the laundry whenever I'm home. It stays with you."

"You're a fine housewife, Gunny," Cleburne joked.

Gunny looked at the burning building. "Think you went a little overboard on this one?"

"No, because I wanted to make a point, hey, who are you?" Cleburne spotted Joan lurking about.

{Damn!} The woman had hoped to overhear more before being spotted, but that was obviously no longer an option. So she decided to go ahead and see what she could find out, the normal way. "Joan Kolchak, Independent News Service. What happened here? Did you find the two suspects you're looking for? And are they the same two murderers from 1933?"

Cleburne frowned and his forehead wrinkled. "Lady, I don't know what you're smoking, but I'm pretty sure that anyone around in the 1930s would have aged enough to be in a nursing home somewhere, by now."

"Then why do the pictures from back then match completely the pictures released to the media today?" Joan pressed. "This is some kind of demon or vampire you're looking for, isn't it?"

Cleburne reddened at that. "Look, I don't care what you write for the _National Enquirer_ , or whatever. Some people will buy anything, but my opinion? Nobody who is anybody important in this world, will ever take such a silly story seriously. Officer!"

A nearby Chicago PD patrolman came over in response to Cleburne's shout. "Yes, sir?"

"This young lady is obviously lost, and needs to be escorted back across the police lines."

"You can't do this! They're the same ones, aren't they? You won't be able to bury the truth forever." Kolchak sputtered as she was led away.

Gunny looked over at Cleburne, already having dismissed the scion of the Kolchak clan in his mind. "Might want to check out that 1930s thing she was talking about?"

Cleburne nodded. "Yeah, there might be something there we can use."

 **Somewhere in Chicago. The same time**

"Look, I've done what you blokes wanted me to do! The whelp's dead, I saw it for myself at the time. And that little kid's dead too, why else would they be looking for child murderers if the bleedin' runt hadn't bit the big one?" Spike almost shouted into the phone. "What do you mean, what do I want? How about getting us out of this bloody city, for a start?"

Spike listened for a second, at what the Order of Taraka spokesperson was saying. "Hey, I work for you lot! You can't just abandon us like this! Hello? Hello! Bloody 'ell!" He turned to his beloved. "Looks like they left us hangin' out to dry on this one, luv." William explained, vamping out in his fury.

"Not to worry, Spike-y, the stars tell me we'll soon leave this city," Dru said, sounding half-sad and half-happy - in her own deranged way, that is.

"Forget the stars, pet, I've got a better idea. Come on, Dru!" Spike said, as he grabbed her shoulder and led her out the door.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. Some time later**

The vampire known as Angel did one of the things that he did best - which was, of course, brood over what had happened. In the privacy of his office, that is.

It had been four days since Gwen had come to him with that *shocking* piece of news, that Spike and Dru had surfaced again in Chicago and tried to kill Xander. He had spoken to one of Harris's keepers on the phone, telling them what he knew of Spike and Drusilla's habits and tactics- and Angel had had no doubts that the government people had genuinely appreciated his input.

And yet, when he'd asked where Xander was, the abrupt 'click' of the disconnecting phone line had also spoken volumes.

{Well, they might be right in wanting me to keep my distance. Xander's probably warned them all about the upcoming return of Angelus during 2003, and there's no point in me knowing too much - when I can't even leave town to help.}

The guilt still ate away at Angel, though. He had made Dru, who in turn had made Spike. Thus, he was ultimately responsible for all their sins. And the death of an innocent child wasn't pleasant to contemplate, even if that *paled* to what had happened 68 years ago.

As even he had heard about what had occurred in Chicago, during 1933 when those relatives of that Chinese Slayer, the one Spike had slaughtered over 30 years previously, had come looking for revenge upon the British vampire.

{What was her name again? Chin Wong? Xin Rong? Something like that, anyway.}

Suddenly, Angel was distracted from his musings as he heard voices outside the door. He could hear heartbeats, and from the smell - it was obvious his secretary had just entered the building.

And her boyfriend, Chuck, was with her.

The male vampire was suddenly reminded of what had happened the night Gwen and Gunn had arrived with their news; he and Cordelia had been in an undercover meet with the extortionist demon, when the captive black man and white woman had been thrown into the room by the evil creature's underlings. And of course, everything had gone to hell from that moment on.

Angel had given up pretending, and started taking out the vamp foot soldiers the demon had employed as minions. A moment later, Cordelia - her ridiculous blonde wig falling off her head - had also leapt into the fray, trying to stake the undead. Luckily, Wesley had come in with his crossbow to cover her, or she might have gotten seriously hurt.

And obviously, Chuck fully agreed with this hypothesis.

"Can't we talk about this later?" Angel heard Cordelia demand, from within his office.

"It's been over three days, Cordelia. How much longer is 'later' gonna have to be?" Chuck's voice was calm on the surface, but the former Angelus could tell whenever a human was upset and trying to hide it.

A theatrical sigh. "Okay, then, fine. Let's get this over with."

Chuck's voice hardened. "You think this is funny? Cordy, you nearly got killed a few nights ago, and now you're making jokes about it?"

Cordelia was obviously backpedaling now. "No, of course not."

"Then what is it? All this is a game for you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Ms. Chase's voice now had a rougher edge to it.

Chuck sighed. "Look, sweetheart, I'm just trying to understand what's going on with you, ever since you dropped this bombshell on me last month, after that Harmony person."

Cordy instantly interrupted, "Hey, I'm sorry about all that! I was wrong, she *was* evil-"

"Will you let me finish? That's not what I was trying to get at!" Chuck now sounded exasperated to the head of Angel Investigations.

"Fine, then what is it you're trying to say?" Cordelia sounded confused.

A pause. "Why are you doing this? As in, this sort of job?"

"Huh?" the former Queen C of Sunnydale High was obviously still in the dark here.

Chuck sighed, and painfully from what Angel could detect. "Honey, look - I know why Angel is doing this sort of thing; he has this whole guilt trip deal going, that anyone with eyes can spot from nearly a mile away! Wesley and Gunn? This is what they've been trained for, ever since they were kids; I've met professional bodybuilders just like them, if those kind of people ever tried to do anything else, they'd be like a fish out of water. Gwen? This is just a side gig for her, deep down she'll always be a thief at heart. But you? Why are *you* doing this?"

Cordy sounded annoyed, "I'm Angel's seer, remember? I get those horrible, painful visions."

But Chuck quickly interrupted her, "But not very often now, right? In fact, from what I've heard, Gwen's been getting almost every single one that the super-people up there have been sending lately. So, what happens when they stop completely? What reason will you have to keep on risking your life this way?"

Cordelia sounded suspicious to Angel, now. "Why don't you tell me?"

But Chuck sounded reluctant to continue. "I don't think you want to hear it."

"Tact isn't exactly your strong point, lover boy. Not tonight, anyway. So spill!"

Angel didn't have to see it to know that the human aerobics instructor was *very* uncomfortable in saying this. But finally Chuck coughed up, "Well, I was just thinking that maybe you're doing this, fighting the good fight and all, to try to prove something to the ghost of Xander Harris."

Angel heard the human woman's shocked, indrawn breath; and winced, just waiting for Hurricane Cordelia to hit the hotel's lobby. But to the vampire's surprise, the former cheerleader simply said calmly, "Well, you're completely wrong about that."

Chuck sounded both confused and relieved at hearing this. "I am?"

"Hell, yes! Please, Chuck, let's get something straight - I, I did something horrible to Xander when I was 17 years old. Maybe even something unforgivable! But it is way in the *past* now. He's just part of my past now, too; geez, it's been two years since that guy died! *You* are my present, and my future. So you don't need to feel threatened by him. Okay?"

"Okay."

And then as the kissing noises reached his ears, Angel quickly tuned out with a sudden grimace. But still, he couldn't help thinking, {Xander, what are you up to right now?}

 **STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. The same time**

On the other side of the country, Xander Harris lay gasping in his bed, having just woken up from a nightmare.

He had been having them every night, ever since Rachael Weitz had died. In his dreams, Harris could see his lover's face as she tried in vain to stretch out towards him, Spike's gunshot blast having already effectively ended her life.

Every time, he tried to save her. Something different, in every dream - he was a few moments faster, he was a bit more stronger, or someone had just dusted that damned vampire a few seconds previously.

But it was all useless. Rachael was dead now, and she wasn't coming back. She wasn't Buffy Summers.

Or himself.

Xander hadn't told anyone so far what had happened, while he'd ended up in Limbo for a while. It wasn't fair to burden Oz and Fred with such knowledge, about what Faith, Rachael and Enoch had told him. And really, how *do* you tell your friends that you had spoken with the spirits of the dead, and the father of Methuselah himself?

{Wish Groo was here, damn it. He would have understood, I could have talked to *him* about all this.}

And about other things, as well.

It had been the first day after getting shot, that Xander had woken up to hear two doctors discussing his case. And what he had heard hadn't exactly filled him with joy and happiness, either.

"What kind of freak is this guy?"

"Will you keep it down? You might wake the patient."

"Quite frankly, doctor, that's the least of my worries right now! I want to know what the hell happened in that operating theater-"

"You and your team did your job, and saved a human life."

"Don't try to bullshit me! That man was dead, and we had stopped trying to revive him. And yet somehow, he's suddenly alive again? And even if, by some miracle, there was a rational explanation for that, the amount of time his brain was without oxygen should almost certainly have meant a state of coma, and more likely than not a permanent one at that! And yet, the next day your Marine lieutenant wakes up with all his memories and faculties intact? What the hell is up with that?!"

A sigh. "Look, that's classified."

"Don't try to wave the flag in my face I was a field doctor during Desert Storm! Whatever story you try to spin, we both know that this man isn't normal; he was mortally wounded, and human life just isn't robust enough to survive something like that! What I'm trying to say is, I don't *care* what kind of secret experiments the government's had done on him; if you're not gonna talk, just get this guy out of my hospital, as fast as you can..."

And at that point, Xander had heard enough and groaned, which had driven the two men silent and out of the room a short while later.

It wasn't pleasant to contemplate, but Harris suspected the loudmouth doctor was right. He wasn't just abnormal mentally now, but also physically as well. He simply wasn't just one of the ordinary people, who had gone through a lot of strange experiences.

Faith had warned him that there would be consequences to coming back, but Xander honestly hadn't been expecting anything like this. And he wondered what *else* might be different about him, now...

{Immortality? No way, Jose; that's a curse, not a blessing.} The young man remembered his words to Oz in the Deeper Well months ago, and recent events had not changed his mind in any way on the subject. Because human life, in the mind of Alexander Lavelle Harris, had a beginning and an end; and since he wasn't Drogyn, and he wasn't a goddamn vampire either...

Which, of course, raised the subject of Spike all over again.

Xander had talked with the visiting members of STW, telling them what he knew of the English vampires to aid in the effort to capture both him and Drusilla. But deep down, Harris had his doubts about the hunters' chances of success in their endeavor. Because he knew Spike of old, having lived with the guy twice in his memories...

{No, wait up. I really need to stop thinking of him as the chipped former menace, or Buffy's undead sex toy.}

Indeed, *that* Spike didn't exist in this brave new world Xander had helped create, and had never done so either. So the chronologically-displaced medical patient figured that the best way to predict what William the Bloody might do now, was go back to his earliest memories of the vamp in question; like when Parent-Teacher Night had taken place, or when Buffy's friend Billy Fordham had come to town, or when Spike had tried to cure his dying sire in that abandoned church, by sacrificing Angel.

But all that didn't help Xander figure out how *he*, personally, was going to turn the bleach-haired vamp into a pile of ashes anytime soon. Well, maybe if the undead duo survived till after the summer of 2003, when there would be no more headaches...

But then the door to his room opened up, and to the wounded man's surprise, an elderly gentleman with tufts of white hair came inside.

"Xander Harris," he said, no questioning in his voice.

"Do I know you?" Xander evaded the comment by the old man. He was somewhat alarmed by the use of a name that was required to be used in secret now.

"You knew my blood; I'm Eli Weitz, Rachael's grandfather," the old man said with a sigh.

"Sir," Xander pulled himself up to a sitting position.

Eli waved his hand. "No, lay still boy - you're wounded. Do not exert yourself needlessly," He pulled a chair up and sat down next to Xander's bed. "I wanted to meet you, and talk to you."

"Sir, if it means anything..." Xander started to say, only to have Weitz wave him off.

"Now, in our family business, it is expected that losses will happen. Particularly in a country such as ours, where national survival is always a concern."

Xander nodded at Weitz's point, he could see where Rachael's family might be more likely to die on the job than others. {The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it? Buffy got that one right, for sure.}

Weitz took a breath. "Still - every time it happens, your soul burns and cries. An all-too-often event in my life." The old man shook his head. "However, you go on, hoping the sacrifice, the price paid, is worth it."

Weitz looked up at Xander. "Rachael told me quite a bit about you. For the last year or so, you were a key part of her life."

"She was important to me also," Xander replied. "I'm sorry for..."

Weitz continued on, not letting him finish. "She left a letter behind for me and for her mother, not long before her passing. Tell me, Mr. Harris, the truth is - bad times are coming, aren't they?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah, both normal trouble and the freaky type at night."

"I anticipated as much," the old man sighed. He suddenly leaned forward. "You understand what she did, don't you?"

"Of course, how could I not?" Xander sputtered.

Weitz looked at Xander carefully for several seconds, his expression betraying nothing. He then leaned back and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. "She left you a letter also, boy. She knew - well, I'll let her explain it herself." He dropped the letter on the nightstand.

Weitz stood up, and started to leave the room. He stopped at the door and turned around, and this time - an expression of ancient pain was visible on his features.

"Earn this. She paid a huge price to make it possible," he said simply. Then he was out the door.

 **Later that evening**

"Hello, Mr. Harris."

"Mr. Wizard," Xander calmly greeted the child genius Irving Hollins, who was standing in the doorway.

"Are you, getting better?" Hollins asked with some hesitation.

"Interesting question," Xander commented. "And in response, the doctors tell me that I'm healing very nicely. As a matter of fact, *too* nicely for their tastes...you ought to see the expression on the faces of some of the newbies around here."

"Indeed. Well, I'd imagine all that is probably a result of your drinking from the Holy Grail," Hollins advanced into the room, and as he closed the door behind him Xander caught a glimpse of a bodyguard in the hallway.

"Mother Hen keeping a close watch on you?" the young man asked.

"Oh yes, I have at least double the number of security personnel now that I used to. Ah, you would have no doubt already figured this out, but" Hollins' voice faltered for a second. "I was definitely the primary target of that attack, when you saved my life that way. No doubt the vampires wanted you dead too, of course."

"Of course," Xander wisecracked. "I'd feel slighted if it was otherwise!"

Hollins smiled, but only for a second. "In any case, Joshua feels he now has the answer - as to why September 11 took place, in the original history. He hasn't said it to me out loud, of course, but I know what he's thinking. I'm supposed to be dead right now, and thus would have never been around to determine what was going on with those terrorists a few months down the road."

Dr. Hollins paused for a second, and said earnestly, "Thank you. I owe you my continued existence, Mr. Har- Xander. And I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Don't mention it," the former Zeppo said, with a *slight* smile. "Just doin' my part for our team, pal, like I said to Buffy way back when."

Irving raised an eyebrow, but then said, "Well, at any rate, the NSA has intercepted some cell phone conversations between Germany and Afghanistan. As I mentioned, with everything that's happened in the last few days - it's believed that this may have been a run-up to the September attacks, in an attempt to blind us to al-Qaeda's plans."

Xander frowned at that. "Spike and Dru, the tool of terrorists? Doesn't sound like them. And what's the connection with Germany?"

"We think the Order of Taraka arranged for William the Bloody and his minions to try to kill me. The Order in turn accepted the contract from Osama bin Laden's people, apparently."

Xander nodded, recalling Giles mentioning at some point how the Order of Taraka was supposedly based somewhere in the Black Forest. "How did you find all this out?"

"Colonel Cleburne has been most persuasive in obtaining information," the child genius explained.

"Thought as much. Where is Mr. Gung-ho Marine right now, anyway?" Xander asked.

"Chicago. He's still hunting for Spike and Drusilla."

Xander looked at Hollins, and saw for the first time, just how scared the young child was by what had happened. "Don't worry," he said simply. "They took their best shot at it, and failed. Nothing else's gonna happen now."

Hollins looked up at that, looking like a terrified child; which after all, was what he was. "I know, security has been increased and the word has been put out that the attempt to kill me worked. This should ensure no further attempts take place, until after we've dealt with the parties in question."

As Hollins talked, he seemed to become a little more reassured. "I just wanted to stop in and see how you were, not to mention say thank you."

Xander managed a feeble smile. "You're welcome, and thanks for that. I just..."

Hollins nodded in understanding. "Yes, I know, Rachael...I talked to her grandfather not long ago, and he said that he had been here earlier. Have you read the letter yet?"

Xander shook his head. "No, I just can't."

Hollins stood up. "You should. Believe it or not, you really should, and as soon as possible. I'll leave you in private." So saying, Hollins quietly left the room.

Xander stared at the door for almost a minute. He then reached over and picked up the letter on the nightstand, where the man had put it earlier. Looking at it, the former Slayerette saw his name on the front of the envelope.

{This feels *weird*, damn it. With all the letters I've written to G-man and Deadboy, it just feels...wrong, to be on the receiving end of one of these things.} With a sigh, Harris then tore open the letter and pulled out a sheet of paper, as he started to read.

 _Dear Alexander,_

 _I honestly don't know how to start writing this letter. Because I know that when the time comes for you to read this, I'll be dead..._

 _I know, I_ _know._ _But don't get too angry with me, sweetheart, please; because I accepted what was to come willingly._

 _You see, that time we went to Pylea, the Transuding Furies met with me. They told me how I had a role to play, a destiny if you will. And my destiny wasn't to save the world, well - not directly. I am, was, fated to save you._

 _However, there was a catch. I would have to give up my life to do so. The sisters didn't know the details, all they knew was that I had to stay close to you - so at the right time, I could die so that you could live._

 _You can imagine how this was *quite* a shock to me. And at first, I thought they were just blowing smoke...however, I later confirmed it through some, shall we say, other sources. And I had trouble dealing with that, for quite a while. However, one thing was clear during all that time._

 _It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, in order to keep you safe; because you weren't just an assignment to me. Okay, maybe you were at first, but not after I got to know you. And even if you weren't fated to save the world somehow, I still would have made the same choice._

 _Because I love you. Well, loved you. No - I still love you, even if I am dead. But now, you have to go on. Live for me. Feel free to mourn me; as a matter of fact, I'll haunt you if you don't._

 _Just a little joke there. What I'm trying to say is, remember me fondly - but don't let sorrow overwhelm you._

 _Because you have a job to do, my love, an important one. The Furies were quite clear on that point. They wouldn't tell me more, only mentioning the word 'unity' and that you would know what that meant..._

 _I've written my family and told them to help you, no matter what. You can rely on them. When you're ready, Cleburne can tell you more about the Weitz family, but piece of advice; you might want to get introduced to them by someone else, other than that particular Marine. My father, for some reason that I've never been able to fathom, really dislikes that guy!_

 _Well, anyway. You'll like them, although they will need some time to grieve. You also, grieve me and remember always that I love you._

 _And keep in mind that I'll be watching you from somewhere up above, so make me proud, lover..._

 _Your beloved,_

 _Rachael_

Xander put the letter down and leaned back, closing his eyes as he did so. {Another woman dead, just because she cared about me. Well, obviously, my record's still perfectly intact.}

 **Midway Airport, Chicago, Illinois. The same time**

The three policemen walked down the row of cargo containers, their flashlights dancing down the aisle.

"This is the last container," the oldest of the trio said as they came to the end of the aisle.

"Well, open it up and let's check it out," the second policeman said.

"No, don't bother," the older one said, as he looked at the tracking slip on it. "No need to."

"Sir?" the rookie of the three said. "We were told to check all the containers, to make sure those two fugitives weren't in one of them?"

The older officer sighed. "Look, son, this shipment is getting put on a freight plane to Canada - in less than half an hour. And it's going in a depressurized cabin. Anybody dumb enough to hide in this thing? They're going to be gasping for air shortly after takeoff, and be dead a few minutes later. The Canadian authorities in Vancouver will find their corpses, and let us know. So personally, I'm clocking out and getting a beer."

He turned around, and started walking off. After a few seconds, the other two officers shrugged and simply followed him.

And no one heard the insane female giggling, which erupted from the sealed container in question.

 **Elsewhere. Later that evening**

Buffy Summers looked around in surprise. She was standing in the middle of a outcropping of rocks, in a desert of some sort. A desert she should have dreamed about long ago...yet thanks to Xander Harris, hadn't needed to.

Until now.

"How the heck did I get here?" she asked out loud. And Ms. Summers didn't expect an answer, but she got one anyway.

"Change."

Buffy turned around, and saw a ratty-haired cavewoman stalking her from atop the rocks. The Chosen One immediately assumed a combat stance and said sarcastically, "Well, you're obviously in thundering need of a facial and a good hair stylist - but hey, right now? I just want to know what's going on! And who are you?"

"No name. Live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound..." The cavewoman straightened up, and looked Buffy in the eye. "Destruction. Absolute...alone."

Buffy had an epiphany, looking at the rags and the primitive physiology. "You're talking about the Slayer-"

"The first."

Well, *that* was enough to really rock the college girl's world, as she realized what her interlocutor was. "Wow! So, uh, about that thing regarding what's going on-?"

"Change. Heralded by three," the First Slayer said, staying atop the rocks. Buffy finally noticed how speech seemed difficult for her companion, but had no way to know how Tara was unavailable now to speak for her. "All three, known to you. One thought gone, one hunted, the other unexpected. All will test."

"Okay, just so you know, I don't like tests, I don't do well on them! Well, my SAT scores didn't exactly bomb, but I still didn't like going through all that! What say you come down here and give me some non-cryptic answers, and I won't have to go all modern-day Slayer on your ass?" Buffy snapped.

"Not ready yet. Not become..." the First Slayer cocked her head to the side before she finished, "...complete." The First Slayer bent down and almost hissed at Buffy, "Need to get ready. We...are...should...alone!" With that, the Primitive jumped down onto Buffy like a cat, obviously intending to attack her.

And at that instant, Buffy Summers bolted awake, sitting up in her bed.

"Oh, great!" she cursed. "I suppose I better wake up Giles, and give him the good news..."

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Forty-three**

 **Great Russell Street, London, England. May 19, 2001**

Roger Wyndham-Pryce sat at his desk, looking worried.

In front of him was a report sent from one of the moles the Council had within the Vatican, about a special meeting Monsignor Randall Bentallo had had - with both the Pope, and one Cardinal Ratzinger.

There had been mention of prophecies, and signs. Of miracles taking place, and the Catholic Church's role in what was to come.

From his other sources, Roger also knew about what had happened with Xander Harris a few days ago. The rumors had started flying thick and fast, especially with the death of that child Pryce had met in Iceland not long ago; and it made the Watcher uncomfortable, thinking about all the possible ramifications of that act.

It also made him uncomfortable to think of how much of this information was now out in the open, so to speak. Apparently that ridiculous website, the one calling Harris 'The Timetripper', had somehow stumbled onto the latest news regarding the Slayer's former friend - and the number of 'hits' there, had skyrocketed this past week...

Suddenly, the head of the Council's private line rang. Pryce raised an eyebrow, as he answered the phone; he hadn't expected the few who knew the number to ring him right now...

"Wyndham-Pryce."

"Colonel Cleburne? How the devil did you get this number?"

"Very well, if you say so. Now, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Ah, interesting. The Order of Tacos? Oh, you mean the Order of Taraka! Yes, of course we...did he indeed? I wasn't aware of Mr. Osbourne knowing anything about them...ah, yes, of course - forgive me. I remember now the entries in Rupert's Watcher diaries, nearly four years ago. And I'd imagine getting shot by one of their assassins, *would* leave quite an impression on the young man..."

"Yes, in this new spirit of cooperation between our two organizations, whatever information we have on them is yours. As I recall The Writings Of Dramius, Volume Six would be what you're after...oh, yes. What? Well, I suppose we could fast-courier them to you if you...why do you need them right now?"

"Ah...William the Bloody and his sire, Drusilla. Yes, yes, I understand completely. Well, I can contact Samuel Zabuto in Cleveland - he has a copy of the Writings, I'm sure. You can? Well, tell your operative that I'll be calling Mr. Zabuto in a few minutes, to give my permission for him to make a copy of the relevant parts of the book for you..."

 **Washington, D.C. A short while later**

"So then, we're sure these Spike and Drusilla characters aren't in Chicago anymore?"

Esther nodded in response to U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld's question. "Yes, there's been no sign of them in the city for two days."

"They couldn't just be laying low somewhere?" Rumsfeld continued reviewing the document on the desk in front of him.

"I very much doubt it. Cleburne has scoured the entire demon underworld quite effectively, this past week or so. My information is that a large number of hostile demons and vampires have fled the city, to escape his attention. Chicago should be very safe for humans, demon-wise that is, at least for the immediate future."

Rumsfeld sighed and leaned back. "Cleburne loose in an American city, huh? Weinberger warned me about him, kept going on about Beirut and how it almost enraged our Arab allies."

"Well, in this case, that's not exactly a worry," Esther replied, with her mouth curling up slightly. "The demons can't really complain all that much, can they?"

"True. And since Illinois is going to vote Democrat anyway..." Esther raised an eyebrow at Rumsfeld's remark, however he went on, "This report from Canada is the real thing, then?"

"Yes, the Vancouver police matched the sketches we sent them with the witness descriptions. Spike and Drusilla definitely went to Canada."

"Any reason to believe they're still in Vancouver?" Rumsfeld asked.

A shrug. "Not really. The witnesses placed them only at the airport, and then only for a short period of time. Most likely, they just caught another cargo plane bound for destination unknown. There were several international flights leaving the airport, at about that time."

"Great, so this bloodhunt has now gone international," Rumsfeld observed.

"It was that right from the beginning. Weitz isn't going to give up, until he's gotten his vengeance upon them," Marcum replied tellingly.

"Yes, he has quite a bit of experience hunting fugitives down on a world-wide scale, doesn't he? However, for now, we have more urgent concerns. This Order of Taraka crowd - I don't like the idea of them getting mixed up with al-Qaeda."

The black woman looked thoughtful. "We're working on confirming the connection. And we don't want to rattle any terrorist cages till after September 11; the Order, on the other hand..."

"Yes, it'll be good for Mr. Weitz and Colonel Cleburne to have an outlet for their aggression at the present time," Rumsfeld commented. "Consider it authorized, the moment POTUS gives the okay."

 **Munich, Germany. Later that day**

"Guten tag, mein herr," the representative from the Order of Taraka said politely, as he finished threading his way through the crowded room.

The terrorist instantly scowled and hissed, "Speak not to me in either the tongue of the Great Satan, or its fawning lapdog of an ally! Your reputation precedes you - and you can speak *my* language, I'm sure!"

{Humans,} the human-looking demon thought to itself, resisting the urge to roll its eyes. {I just pray that the day you all kill each other off, comes very quickly!} "Very well," the new arrival said as he switched to fluent if archaic Arabic, and sat down at the table. "And it is my pleasure to inform you, that your assigned task has been completed." {And not for the reasons you will no doubt think - you arrogant, fanatical fool!}

"So, then, the infidel mutant child is dead?"

"Yes, as contracted for. There were some complications, but the job was nonetheless carried out in full," the Order of Takara representative said to the bearded Arab sitting across the table from him.

The terrorist then proceeded to defile the holy religion of Islam, by giving profuse whispered thanks to Allah over the murder of an innocent. "Good, we are most pleased. You did well, for demons and infidels!" the Arab student then said in a snarky tone of voice. "It seems beneficial, then, to use demons like yourselves to fight the Great Satan. If we need you again, we will be in touch!" He then stood up and walked away.

"Religious fanatics. Well, at least their money is good."

The Tarakan assassin quickly paid the bill - human food didn't agree well with him - and then walked out of the restaurant as well. And as he walked down the street, the shape-shifter didn't see a man looking at him from a third story window.

"You get all that?" the man asked in German, as he moved away from the window.

"Yes," the other man in the apartment answered in English, as he hunched over a recording console. "Came in crystal clear."

The first man smiled for a moment. "They've left the restaurant. Follow them both, and report where they go. Do not get spotted," he then said into a walkie-talkie. Fingering the Star of David hanging around his throat, the secret agent then muttered, "First we learn all we can, then we avenge what they've done."

 **Carle Foundation Hospital, Urbana, Illinois. The same time**

The grey-skinned humanoid made his way silently into the office within the hospital. He started opening filing cabinets, and methodically going through them. He paused when he heard a noise outside the office; but after about a minute or so, he started searching again.

A direct approach would not have worked here, that much was clear. These humans, despite what some other demons thought, were competent - and it would have been foolish to try anything that they could have detected and retaliated against. A direct attack on this well-guarded hospital would have only called attention to him and his kind.

And they weren't ready for that.

However, patience was something his species was very good at.

After all, they had been hiding ever since humans had taken over this world, so long ago. They could afford to wait, for they knew that one day - the entire planet would be theirs again.

So they could use the indirect approach for this little episode, and very cunningly at that.

The doctor here was the object of their focus of attack. Nothing dramatic, just a strong suggestion spell; the idea that he might want to examine that mystery patient a little bit more intensely than usual, had been planted.

Afterwards, the M.D. had rationalized it as a desire for studying an increased rate of healing - that might be adapted to help the others of his species. And no one would really mind if some biological samples for research and testing weren't destroyed or confiscated, he had convinced himself. The fool.

The demon, whose index finger was longer than his middle finger, and who had met with the Immortal and Elizabeth Bathory over three months ago, smiled as he opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet - and found what he was looking for.

Four blood samples, stored in special self-chilling and anti-coagulating containers.

He reached down, and took two of the vials. The doctor would think he'd only taken two lots of the special fluid, the suggestion spell would see to that. And if the other humans ever found out what the idiot had done, they would think he had been acting entirely on his own.

Meanwhile, he and his people would have these two vials of the blood. This would allow them to plan and prepare their return. The grey-skinned humanoid closed the cabinet, and stood back. He heard movement again from outside the office.

And yet a few seconds later, when the door opened and the doctor entered his private domain, the room was completely empty.

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. The next day**

Eli Weitz sat in Esther's office, with both Esther Marcum and Joshua Cleburne present. He sipped a cup of tea slowly, and then looked at the two Americans. "You no doubt know, just as we do, that the Order of Taraka was hired by al-Qaeda to undertake this attack. We videotaped the meeting between their contact people yesterday."

"Yeah, signal intercepts got the same information. They apparently wanted a face to face to confirm it. Damn sloppy of them, in my opinion," Cleburne said with a shrug.

"So we start planning to retaliate, then," Weitz said, staring at his companions carefully.

"Yes and no," Esther said, a pained look on her face.

Weitz frowned at that answer, not liking the implications. "Care to explain?"

"The Order is going to be hit, and hit *damned* hard, within the next month or so. I suspect they're about to encounter something that they haven't encountered in a long time," Cleburne said.

Weitz didn't have a problem with that. "I couldn't help noticing you didn't say anything about al-Qaeda," the old man noted.

"There are reasons why we don't want to spook them right now," Esther explained.

Weitz raised an eyebrow at that. "And what reasons are these? After all, they are definitely trying to spook *you*. They would love to attack you here."

"We know," Cleburne said, inwardly grimacing at the irony.

"And yet you don't hit back?" Weitz said. "Rachael deserves justice!" he suddenly growled, suddenly not looking like someone's grandfather - but more like an avenging angel, out for blood.

"No arguments there. We just want you to avoid doing anything to al-Qaeda for the next few months, old man. I'm asking you as a Marine," Cleburne said.

Weitz looked thoughtful for a second. "To delay a response only encourages further attacks. You of all men should know this, Joshua Elijah. As soon as everything is in place, you should attack."

"There are other factors in place here," Esther tried to explain.

"What other factors? Why should these animals have a moment's respite?" Weitz demanded.

Esther and Cleburne exchanged a glance. Cleburne spoke first, "You're lucky I figured out beforehand how it would go down like this, and managed to get clearance from Rumsfeld for you to hear the big secret. But look, old man, this information doesn't leave the room - is that clear? No one else, and that includes your people back home, can learn yet about what I have to say."

Weitz was clearly getting frustrated. "I can't promise that."

"You need to, or you stay in the dark about it, along with everyone else that isn't part of Siberian Trip Wire. Because it's the big holy secret we've been guarding for the last few years, old man. It's the reason we're doing...everything. Believe me, it's not something that will bring harm to Israel, and in fact, I suspect it'll rebound greatly in her interests, during the near future," Cleburne said with great intensity as he leaned forward.

"You trust me?" Weitz said simply, his old eyes boring into Joshua's.

"Yes," Cleburne said before Esther could answer, and she sent him a glance of annoyance.

"You appear most confident of your facts, *Colonel*. Very well then, tell me your secret and your reasons for keeping it secret. When I'm convinced, as you seem to think I will be, then none of it leaks out of this room, ever."

"Good enough," Cleburne said. "Okay, then we're agreed."

"Cleburne!" Esther said sharply.

Joshua just ignored Mrs. Marcum as he started talking, "September 11, old man, everything comes back to September 11."

 **STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. May 22, 2001**

Xander Harris was not in a good mood.

He had been in the hospital now for over a week, and it was threatening to drive the young man batty. And not just from the enforced lack of physical activity during the day.

But from the dreams at night, as well.

Luckily, his nightmares concerning Rachael's death had mercifully started to fade, and Harris had thanked whatever or whoever was responsible for that small mercy. But now, other dreams had started to take their place. Just last night, Xander had dreamed of a gathered crowd on a hill, not far from a desert.

And just before he had woken up, the former slave had heard a loud booming male voice proclaim, "QUID EST VERITAS?!"

It was starting to make him think that *something* was definitely up; and Harris didn't like that, in any way shape or form.

Thing was, the former Slayerette hadn't forgotten what the Transuding Furies had said in LA, back when he had walked into Wolfram & Hart to rescue Faith's soul; that he was special, and that he had a destiny to fulfill. At the time, he'd had his mind on other things, but now?

Well, Xander definitely got the feeling that he was being *primed* for something. Guided, shepherded, even *manipulated* as it were. And as said, this scarred survivor didn't like that; Harris knew enough about himself to understand that he was no hero, no champion of a cause like Buffy and Angel. And whoever was trying to force him into that mold, had one hell of a rude awakening coming.

Xander put down the fork on his meal tray, as he leaned back in the hospital bed in frustration. "Every time I wind up in a hospital, Fred, the food sucks! It's like a great cosmic truth, no matter where I go."

"I don't know about that, the food on the Wasp was pretty good. I loved going to the hospital mess there! They had delicious tacos," the Texan woman said in reply, as she tried to maintain an upbeat attitude.

Xander and Oz looked at Fred, and the werewolf just raised an eyebrow. Xander just grimaced; normally he would have smiled, but right now he just wasn't in the mood. "Well, it woulda been better than whatever you'd been eating in the Pylean forests, I guess."

Now Oz and Fred exchanged a look. "That's right," Fred said quickly. "I couldn't make tacos there, tried to for years - but on the Wasp, they had everything. I even had ice cream!"

Xander closed his eyes. "What's the word on Spike and Drusilla?"

"Cleburne says they got to Canada. From there, he's not sure. The black suits are looking hard for them," Oz said, not surprised at the change in subject.

"Well, that figures. Thing is, though - that gruesome twosome is *real* gifted at hiding! But then, they're also like cockroaches; I figure they'll scuttle back out into the light before too long," Xander responded, a hard look on his face.

"No one can hide forever," Oz said simply.

"Yeah, and when they finally come out from behind the refrigerator - I'll be there. I'll find Spike, and I'll deal with him. Hell, he spent enough time with me living in my basement, I think I have a good idea of how the bleached wonder and his crazy bitch might operate."

"Your basement?" Fred asked in disbelief.

Xander opened his eyes at that. "Sorry. That was back in the original history, Fred - it never happened here."

Oz raised an eyebrow again, interested as always in references to that other world. "You'll probably want to share some of your insights with Cleburne and his people, then. They've got the resources to put them to use."

Xander nodded. "Yeah, I know, they've got all the fancy gizmos they need to eavesdrop on two vampires having a conversation in Timbuktu! And I've already spoken to a few people - actually, my main concern now is to make sure they don't cut me out of the loop, when they close in for the kill."

Fred decided to change the subject herself. "The Wizard was here earlier today. Y'all have a good talk?"

"Yeah, Irving's worried I might be falling behind on my studies. Wanted to check in and make sure I wasn't neglecting my book learning," Xander replied laconically.

"So how are your studies coming along?" Fred asked eagerly. "If you want, I can help on some of the physics and mathematics problems. I know a little about those subjects!"

Xander finally chuckled at that; he knew that Fred was pretty much back at genius level regarding that sort of thing nowadays, after recovering from her little sojourn to another dimension five years ago. The Wizard had told him that her knowledge base was Nobel Prize-level stuff, and only her absence had prevented her from becoming well known within the physics field. "Fred, come on, we all know you could write books on those subjects."

Fred smiled shyly and blushed at that. "No, no, I don't know that much. I mean, I wrote some articles and papers after Professor Seidel advised me, but that's it."

"Don't sell yourself short, Fred," Xander said simply. "Life's too short for that sort of thing. Take it from someone who knows."

"You mean that, Xander? I mean, you really think that I'm that good?" Fred said excitedly.

"Of course. I mean I wouldn't lie to you about that, you're one of my girls," Xander said automatically. But when what he had said registered internally, the young man frowned and could almost be visibly seen to fall into a bad mood.

"Xander, what's wrong?" Fred asked at once. His expression suddenly reminded the short brunette of something she'd witnessed a few days ago, when Harris was talking in his sleep; angrily mumbling something about not being the Zeppo anymore - whatever that meant - to some dream woman, who had remained nameless.

Oz didn't have to ask though, he could figure out what had put Xander into a foul mood like this. And it saddened him that his best friend had yet to put the past behind him this way.

"Nothing, really. Uh, look guys, if you don't mind - I need to get some rest," Xander replied. "Can you two come back later tonight, maybe?"

Both musician and scientist knew a dodge when they heard one. But not wanting to force the issue, they just nodded and quickly filed out of the room

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. May 23, 2001**

"Hello, Dawn. May I come in?" Rupert Giles asked, as he knocked on the opening door of Dawn's bedroom.

"Whatever," Dawn said in an irritated tone of voice, as she lay face down on her bed.

Giles advanced, and pulled out the chair at Dawn's desk. He placed it next to the bed, and then parked his ass down upon it. "Well, um, how's school going?"

"School is school, Giles," Dawn replied without looking up.

The former Watcher inwardly sighed. "Joyce tells me that there have been some problems, lately?"

Dawn scowled. "Whatever." she said again.

"Dawn, I know you've received some shocking news recently," Giles started to say.

Dawn rolled over and looked at Giles. "Giles, I'm not real, I'm the Key! As in, not a human?"

"Dawn," Rupert said impatiently.

"Come on, Giles, why should a little old glowing ball of energy *really* worry about what goes on in school? I mean, I've been thinking about this ever since Buffy and I talked that night in the graveyard..."

She kept going, even if the British man had opened his mouth to reply. "I mean, do I even have a soul?"

That stopped the British Watcher short. "Every human being has a soul, theoretically."

"So - you're telling me that those monks *manufactured* one for me? I don't, like, think that's possible - I mean, they're not God! Bottom line, what'll happen when I die? Revert back to the big green ball of energy I once was? Or will my essence go off to Heaven or Hell? What, Big Knowledge Guy?"

The Englishman had been wondering the same thing, but still didn't have an answer. "I don't know."

The brunette snorted. "All right then, lemme ask you this - what advice can my guidance counselor give, for a glowing ball of energy currently in human form? It's not like there are careers out there for things like that! Okay, maybe in an NBA all-star game, it would save 'em a heap on the special effects budget! Let's face it; when I grow up, I have no future," Dawn sighed and turned back around.

"Dawn Summers!"

Dawn found herself jerked around, and now facing a red-faced Giles. "I will not tolerate that attitude, young lady! You are a human being. You are *not* a glowing ball of energy! Not anymore. You are the daughter of Joyce Summers, and younger sister of Buffy Summers. You're human, and I have that on the highest authority - Xander's! So start acting like what you are!"

Dawn blinked at Giles' outburst, then she frowned. "Hey, where do you get off yelling at me like that? You're not my father. Heck, technically I don't even have a dad!"

"Well, I might become..." Giles stopped himself. He collected his thoughts for a second, before starting again in a calmer voice. "Look, I care for and about you and your whole family, Dawn. Just because I-I-I'm not your biological father, that doesn't mean I can't love you and your sister like one! And I am not going to just stand by, and let your sulking upset your mother this way. I've seen that sort of thing happen before with others, and it never ends well."

Dawn was taken aback by the strength of Giles' words. And she suddenly felt a bit guilty as well, about Joyce; the young teenager still found it hard to think of the woman as 'mom' again, at least so far. "Well, betcha they never had to deal with not being real."

"They dealt with horrible things, things they had done," Giles responded. "Things they had done to others." He sighed. "Did, did Buffy ever tell you about 'Ripper'?"

Dawn frowned, not remembering the 'Band Candy' incident in detail. "I've heard the name, I think, but I don't recall details. Why?"

Giles took a deep breath. "What I'm about to tell you, Dawn, I'm also going to ask you to keep in confidence. Joyce and Buffy already know this story, but it was always thought you were too young to hear it - now however, I-I think this is no longer the case. So, shall I begin?"

Dawn just nodded, full of curiosity, as Rupert took off his glasses and briefly looked down. "Back in the early 1970s, Dawn, I wasn't a very nice person. I, I know I can appear incredibly stuffy, British and long-winded at times, but back then - I, ah, I was heavily into black magicks, and summoning demons."

The Key's eyes went wide, but Giles continued on. "Eventually I saw the error of my ways, after the group I was with - well, one of our number was killed during an episode of sorts. And back towards the end of 1997 - when was it, the beginning of November? - ah, basically, my past came back to haunt me. The demon Eyghon showed up here in Sunnydale, having killed quite a few of my former comrades-in-crime. It then very nearly killed-"

"Oh, wait, I remember this now! I overheard Buffy and Willow talking about it back then, their computer teacher. Ms. Calendar, I think her name was?" Ms. Summers broke in excitedly, but then her face dropped as she remembered further details.

"Yes, that damned thing nearly killed her as well. And it was all my fault; if I had just done something about it beforehand, things might never have gotten that far. But luckily, Angel was there to destroy that sleepwalker demon."

A deep breath. "Angel has also had to deal with what he did in the past, just as I have. Buffy has had to deal with what happened to one of those who chose to help her. We've all had to deal with dark things, at one time or another; it's part of growing up, being human."

Giles took another breath before continuing, "Dawn, I know you received a, a major shock recently. And I can hardly even imagine the impact that it's had on you. But, what I'm truly concerned with is the here and now! And here, today, you're a real, live, breathing young teenager. And from what your mother tells me, one who really needs to straighten up right quick, at school."

The Key squirmed on her bed, just like the rebellious adolescent she now was. "Giles, come on! I kinda deserve a little leeway, don't ya think-?" Dawn whined to the de facto father figure in her life.

"No, you've already gotten all the leeway you're going to get," the Brit replied in a no-nonsense tone.

"How do you mean?" Dawn asked.

"Who was it that broke into my house, hmm? Then rifled through my personal papers, damaged my property? You're not that good a thief, you know," Rupert observed.

Dawn blushed at that, but quickly fired back, "Hey, you can't blame me for that!"

"Then who *should* I blame, precisely? Buffy, for being the Slayer and your chosen guardian? Xander, for being cursed with the knowledge of the future and writing those letters? Myself, for going on a walk with your mother that day? No, my girl, the responsibility lies exclusively with you. I have every reason in the world to hold you accountable, both morally and legally," Giles said firmly. "As a matter of fact, I shall have to discuss this with your mother; about how much of your pay at the Magic Box will go into covering the cost of repairs."

"You wouldn't!" Dawn said in horror, and then sending him a patented Summers pouting look.

"Dawn, please. Your sister has been exposing me to that look for nearly five years, and thus I have grown completely immune to it! You're wasting your time, trying that one on me."

Dawn frowned at Giles' response, huffing and crossing her arms. "Fine! But this isn't over."

Giles just smirked to himself, as he left the room. {My word, but I think I'm *finally* getting the hang of dealing with the Summers women.}

The Englishman wouldn't have been so smug, though, if he had looked back and noticed what Dawn was doing.

For the female teen had grabbed something off her desk, and was about to throw at his departing back in fit of childish pique - when luckily, Dawn calmed down and thought to herself, {No, better not. I'd probably just get all my pay docked completely.}

 **The Escalante Desert, near the Modena part of Utah. Later that evening**

The woman paused for a second, trying to catch her breath. She couldn't pause long, though, her fear wouldn't let her. She looked back from where she had come. Next to her, her two companions also caught their breath briefly.

Her car had broken down and she had abandoned back down the road. She could see it illuminated by the lights of their pursuers, whatever they were.

"Come on, Sharon, we have to go!" one of the other whispered in panicked tones.

She nodded and start running crouched over, hoping that the pursuers wouldn't spot her. Her two friends followed after her. She used her left hand to balance herself as she skittered down the side of the rock they had been on top of.

"What are they?" Kelli said, as she followed Sharon.

"They, they weren't human; did you see them?" That was Jasmine, as she also followed.

Sharon shook her head. "I don't know what they are. I just know I don't want to be caught by them." She could hear her pursuers around the car. She wondered what her dad would say about the damage to the vehicle. Then she hoped she would *live* to be able to hear what her dad had to say about it.

She ran in that crouching manner for a few minutes, hoping to avoid being seen. She then stopped and looked around. "The highway should be somewhere up ahead."

Kelli was looking panicked. "Why? I mean, the road just changed while you were driving on it, becoming something else. That wasn't any road I've seen before."

"Roads don't just change."

"That one did." That was Jasmine.

"The highway is up ahead." Sharon said firmly, hoping that the panic she was fighting off wasn't noticeable.

Kelli looked like she was going to argue, but before she could say anything, there was a howling noise cold enough to chill one's blood. All three girls looked back in terror to where the howling was coming from.

"Wolves! They've got wolves!" Jasmine said.

"That doesn't sound like any wolf I've ever heard before," Kelli snapped. "That's something else altogether!"

Other beasts joined in the howling of the first one. The howling seemed to surround the women, causing them to look around in panic.

"We've got to get out of here, we've got to go!" Jasmine cried.

"Come on!" Sharon said, motioning for the others to follow her as she skidded down the face of the rock they were on. After a few seconds, Jasmine and Kelli followed. They headed in the direction where the howling was the least audible. As they ran, they could hear the scuttling of inhuman feet.

The three of them picked up the pace, Kelli stumbled and Sharon grabbed her arm and pulled her up. They continued running to catch up with Jasmine. Sharon looked back and blanched. She could see several shadows and shapes headed towards her. She picked up the pace, pushing Jasmine as she did. "Hurry!" she blurted out.

"I am!" Jasmine said in a panicked tone. A few feet in front of them, Kelli fell down, screaming as she did. Sharon and Jasmine ran down the rock slope to where Kelli was.

"Get up!"

Kelli flopped around a little bit. "I can't! I twisted my ankle."

Sharon reached down to help Kelli up, and then looked around. "Look, there's the road and the grass is back to normal. We can get to the road, we can find help." Sharon looked at Jasmine. "Come on, help her." Jasmine hesitated for a second. "Come on!" Sharon shouted, not worrying about being overheard any longer.

Shrugging, Jasmine reached down and grabbed Kelli's arm. The two of them started to help Kelli limp forward. The three ran or hobbled the best as they could. All around them, the sounds of moving creatures could be heard.

Sharon stumbled as Jasmine stopped. "Don't stop!" she said urgently. But then she looked up and saw why Jasmine had stopped. Ahead of them, between them and the road, were five creatures that had to be monsters. "No," she whispered.

"Humans, you shouldn't have come here. But since you couldn't get far enough away..." The lead monster grinned and started advancing. "You should stay for dinner." The others started advancing. More demons came into sight.

"Come on!" Sharon said and started pulling Kelli. She looked over to see Jasmine standing frozen crying. Sharon swallowed, realizing they wouldn't get out of this alive.

The lead demon suddenly stopped and blinked. He looked down at his chest which had a rather large arrow protruding from it. "That's wrong," he said, before he fell to his knees and then toppled face down.

More arrows started flying at the other demons, suddenly the sounds of horses galloping and war shouts drowned the noise of the demons.

Sharon looked around, as what looked like knights on horseback started galloping around them - and attacking the monsters.

 **Not far away. A short while later**

Sharon pulled the blanket tight against her, now sitting on the back of an ambulance. She was sitting in the middle, between Kelli and Jasmine. Around them men were moving around, the fight between them and the demons having ended awhile go. The knights had vanished, only to be replaced by men who appeared to be military or law enforcement in plain clothes. A group of paramedics had also arrived and examined the three of them.

"Don't worry, it's not coffee." Looking up, Sharon saw a man holding out to her a cup with steam coming out of it. "Still, it's something warm to drink."

She took the cup and tasted it. It was hot chocolate. "Thank you." The man nodded. "What happened?" Sharon asked after a few moments. 

"Shouldn't you be the one to tell me that?"

She chuckled, glancing at Kelli and Jasmine. They both shook their heads, and so Sharon said, "We were coming back from a rodeo, but we were running late. We didn't want to break curfew. So we tried taking a shortcut, hoping to make it in time back to St. George. " She took a breath. "It seemed to work for a while, but then the road changed - and not just the road, there were weird trees along the road. The road felt like it was made of stone not paved. We knew were lost."

"I can imagine that was pretty disconcerting."

"Yeah. We saw what we thought was a diner on the side of the road. We pulled in to get directions." She paused for a second, visibly shivering. "We thought they were people at first, however when we got a closer look? They weren't." She kept silent for a few seconds. "We drove off as quickly as we could. They followed us in these weird cars that looked like eggs on wheels. Then our car got wrecked, so we ran for it as fast as we could. The desert changed back to normal while we were running, but they kept chasing us. I thought we were dead for sure. Then those men who looked like something from out of the Middle Ages showed up."

The silence lasted for about a minute this time. The man finally spoke. "I see. I should mention some friends of ours would normally handle something like this, but they had something come up; something bad. So they asked us to look into this matter, and had some friends of theirs to come along to help."

"The knights?" 

"That is actually part of their name, oddly enough. They took to dealing with the demons, and that was what they were by the way, quite well. They sent them scurrying back home, well - those that survived. It's hard to explain exactly what happened, the Wizard said something about an Einstein-Rosen bridge. Had trouble grasping myself it, until he explained bad things might be coming out of it. That part I got. Oh, I'm Chalmers, by the way."

"I'm Sharon." She looked out at the men milling around the ambulance and the various official-looking vehicles. "You're a Danite, aren't you?"

Chalmers chuckled this time. "Haven't you heard? The Danites haven't existed in over a hundred years."

"Whatever. What now?"

"Let's talk about that." Off in the distance, the sun started to rise.

 **STW hospital, Leesburg, Virginia. Not long after sunrise**

Xander buttoned up his shirt, in his hospital room; the dreams having already been long since dismissed from his concerns. The last few days, the doctors of Siberian Trip Wire had been overseeing his recovery and also taking the opportunity to perform tests on him.

Harris knew that there had been a great deal of surprise on how quick he had recovered from Spike's gunshot wounds. And he still hadn't told anyone about his afterlife experience involving Faith, Rachael and the older man called Enoch; Xander knew in his heart what had happened, he just didn't know the specifics.

That was why he really didn't want the Siberian doctors sniffing around too much into what he had experienced, at least not just yet. He knew at some point that he would have to tell them, but for now, Xander just didn't want to.

Still, he couldn't really refuse their attentions when the doctors came to examine him. So the young man underwent their tests, and held his tongue.

A few of the doctors had frowned during the tests, and made some notes on their damned clipboards. Most of them hadn't answered Xander's questions. A few others *had* answered them; however, "we don't know what it means" or variations of the theme had been their reply. There had been one or two "you're getting better, but we can't explain why" replies as well.

Bottom line, Xander didn't know if he should be relieved or concerned by that. But for now, he just accepted it, like he accepted a lot of other things about his current situation. Five years of slavery can make you very adaptable, after all.

The door to the examining room opened, and the child genius Irving Hollins walked in; followed by a middle-aged man in a lab coat.

"So, Mr. Wizard, what's the word? Have I become the real-life version of Wolverine, or something like that?" Xander asked Hollins.

The child shook his head, as the older doctor just looked disapproving over Xander's flippancy. "No, no; there are no mutant superhero genes within you, I'm afraid. Basically, from everything we can tell, you appear to be a perfectly normal adult of human stock." Hollins paused and glanced back at his companion. "Unfortunately, we just don't have an explanation for your incredibly fast recovery from what happened in Urbana."

The doctor spoke up, "We've gone over the test results five times. Everything checks out normal, right down the line, Lt. Howard."

Xander finished buttoning his shirt. "Right, so, where's that leave us?"

Hollins sat down in a chair, directly opposite from the examining table that Xander was sitting on. "Well, I'm not sure. We know that *something* caused your rapid healing. As I said once before, most likely it was connected in some way to when you drank from the Holy Grail in England. However, we cannot as yet figure out the connection. If I may use an analogy, it bears resemblance to the situation of a typical passenger on a jet plane; he knows that the thrust of the engines somehow cause the plane to fly, but he is ignorant of the physics of flight that explain how this happens."

Xander raised an eyebrow at that. "Not quite what I meant." He paused, standing up before continuing. "Still, since I'm not some kind of mutant or male Slayer or whatever now, it turning out I'm just some kind of version of a jetliner that confuses the average traveler - I was wondering where I go from here?"

Suddenly Harris scowled, seeing the lab coat open his mouth. {And so help me God, if you even *suggest* anything like turning me into some sorta experimental animal...}

Hollins smiled, missing Xander's expression. "Of course, forgive me; I was still thinking about the test results. Well, the doctors say you're able to leave the hospital, so we can depart here whenever you're ready. But Colonel Cleburne feels you need some downtime, before getting back in the field. Physical rehab has been arranged for you."

"So basically, I've been benched," Xander said grimly, dismissing the M.D. from his thoughts now.

Hollins shook his head. "Only till you're fully back up to speed. Anyone who was wounded in the way you were, would need time to be sure they're ready to go back into the field. There's nothing discriminatory about it, if that was what you were thinking."

"And who decides when I'm ready to return?" Xander asked softly. Thinking about Spike and Dru, of course.

"Joshua will. Not to worry, he won't keep you out of the field for a moment longer than necessary; believe it or not, you've become too valuable to his plans for it to be otherwise. In the meantime, Monsignor Bentallo wants to meet with us. He says he's found some new prophecies that apparently we need to know about."

Xander groaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh, great! Prophecies are never good, Irving, trust me on that."

 **Siberian Trip Wire Conference Center, Washington D.C. May 25, 2001**

Xander walked into the conference room, with Hollins following behind him. Sitting at the conference table in the middle of the room was Monsignor Bentallo, Esther Marcum and Colonel Cleburne. Bentallo had an anxious look on his face, while Cleburne looked to be in a bad mood.

Which, in Xander's book, was never a good sign.

Harris then took a seat opposite from Bentallo. He instantly realized though the sunlight from the window would blind him in the seat he had chosen, so he stood back up and moved down two seats to avoid the glare. Hollins took a seat next to Xander, on the opposite side of the table from the others.

Before anyone else could speak, Xander looked at the Marine colonel. "Spike and Drusilla. Care to tell me about the efforts going into making them the contents of a dust buster?"

Cleburne took a breath before responding. "Sorry, kid, but like Wolfie told ya - they dodged us in Canada. By the time we realized they were there, those two had already motored out of Vancouver. We've had several reports on them since then, of varying reliability. Guess the bottom line is, they've gone underground completely. We're doing everything we can to get a bead on them; both us, and the Mossad. Also, we're getting ready to pay our compliments on the Order of Taraka. They were the moving force behind the assassination attempt, after all."

"I remember those guys from Sunnydale," Xander said emotionlessly. He viciously repressed the memories of what had happened in the basement of the Summers home with Cordelia Chase; much preferring to contemplate stomping Norman the Bug Man's buggy bits to death, in that abandoned church.

"Yes, well, according to my sources? Spike failing to pay them for what went down back then, that was what they used to get him to do their dirty work, on this one. So the Israelis and U.S. are going to remove them as a factor in the world," Cleburne explained.

"I want in on it," Xander said in that same flat tone of voice.

Esther, Bentallo and Hollins looked at each other. Cleburne just stared straight at Xander, "I understand completely. You will be there. My word as a Marine."

Xander nodded once, and then turned to the others. "Okay then, campers. Let's hear now what bad news we have on the prophecy front, shall we?"

"Not necessarily bad news, my son," Bentallo said. "Just an explanation for certain things told to you recently."

"And that would be what?" Xander asked.

"In your vision quest last month, your guide sent word for us to research Longinus. Ever since then, our people at the Vatican have been cross-referencing that information with several prophecies and writings in the special vaults," Bentallo answered.

"And who was he?" Xander asked.

"Legend has it that he was the Roman soldier who pierced Christ's side with his spear, during the Crucifixion. That is why he is the one most closely connected with the story of the Spear of Destiny, the weapon used to wound Jesus on the cross," Bentallo explained.

"Uh-oh," Xander said slowly, as his stomach started sinking. "Wanna mention then how this connects to me?"

Bentallo looked at Xander and then continued, "Several prophecies and writings refer to the Spear playing a pivotal role in a battle against 'the evil that came before everything'. While that description is of course incredibly vague, we now think that they refer to the First Evil. It is written the Spear was hidden long ago, and needs to be found now." Bentallo paused.

"Go on," Xander prompted the Catholic official.

He nodded and read off a piece of paper in front of him. "The Spear shall be hidden from view, confused with many pretenders. The one who is of time, but not of his time, shall be the one who finds the Spear and gives it sustenance."

Xander shook his head. "Me, and that sounds like some roundabout way of meaning me, has to go find this Spear thing? Don't I have enough to do right now?"

"What can I say, you're damn popular kid. I mean come on, you've got groupies!" Cleburne wisecracked.

Xander shot him a dirty look. "Maybe I should start a fan club and cash in on it, then. You know, send in five bucks and get the secret decoder ring."

"Sustenance. He gives sustenance to the Spear. What does that mean?" Hollins asked, ignoring the interplay between the former Scooby and the Marine.

"I don't know," Bentallo answered. "Keep in mind, due to the extreme rush on this work, the phrasing may not be completely properly translated. And some of the writings are contradictory; one in fact talks about the vampire Slayer using the Spear! There are references to witches and demons. There's one scroll describing how she, but not saying who exactly, will use the spear only after the red witch blesses it. However, they all agree that a man out of time, so to speak, will be the one to find the Spear."

Xander rolled his eyes, suddenly reminded of the Slayer scythe. "The Slayer, huh? *Please* let it be Kennedy," he muttered. Then the man thought to himself, {And the red witch? Betcha that means Willow.}

Then Harris spoke up in a louder tone, "So basically, I get to play Indiana Jones? Well, guess it coulda been worse. Any idea where this Spear is?"

"Well, there are many rumors and claims with regard to the Spear. There have been claims that an artifact in Rome is the weapon we seek; and there is also a spear in Vienna that is claimed to be *the* Spear. We will have to determine which spear, if either of them, is the real one. And since the prophecies talk about the Spear being found, personally I believe that neither will be what we seek. There is a vast amount of information supposedly about the Spear, some of it extremely fanciful," Bentallo explained.

"Fanciful? Fanciful? Monsignor, we're talking about a spear that was around for the Crucifixion! And that was nearly 2,000 years ago! I think we passed fanciful three exits ago," Cleburne said.

"And we haven't even mentioned Hitler and the Nazis yet," Hollins observed wryly.

"Excuse me?" Esther said.

"There is a rather large body of published historical data, regarding Nazi interest in the Spear of Destiny. And then we have Napoleon supposedly seizing the Spear, when he took Vienna in 1805. Even the Holy Roman Empire is said to have held it for a while. What? I read a book about it when I was bored, several years ago," Hollins said, in response to looks he was getting from the others in the conference room.

Xander shook his head. "Ya know what? Vampires and demons are easy, old hat even. But this is starting to sound just plain complicated and scary," the young man observed.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Forty-four**

 **Vatican City, Rome, Italy. May 30, 2001**

Monsignor Randall Bentallo took a quick sip from the teacup that had been on the mahogany desk in front of him. He then placed the cup back down gently on the table, and looked out the window.

One of the perks of being a member of the Special Office of the Vatican was, undoubtedly, an office with a nice view. He didn't get enough chances to enjoy it, what with the new situation between his organization and the Siberians these days. But at least it was still there and able to be appreciated when he could.

The office seemed an ideal place to await the test results. And it also gave him a chance to contemplate recent events.

Bentallo knew that the attempt to kill the child genius Irving Hollins had greatly disturbed the Americans. There was something else worrying them though, something that had them on edge. The Monsignor felt the reason they were keeping Hollins' survival a secret was more than just a concern about possible future attempts on his life.

There was also the situation involving Xander Harris. He was clearly and understandably having problems with everything that had transpired, and the news about the Spear of Destiny added to all that had not helped. Bentallo had offered to talk to the American about it, but Xander had politely refused.

So for now, the Catholic official concentrated on what he could do, in other words - search for the Spear.

Rome was the first stop. Randall, in his heart, had doubts this lead would pan out; however, it still had to be checked.

Bentallo's musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. He then looked up to see a young man in a lab coat standing there. "Monsignor?"

"Yes, my son?" Bentallo replied.

"We have the results of the tests. And I'm sorry, but there is no way that the artifact in question was the one used at Calvary. The weapon's been carbon-dated as being from the fifth century AD, at best..."

Bentallo sighed. "Well, I suppose it *was* too much to hope for that the first place we looked would be where the real Spear was. Anyway, thank you for your work - and when I need your services again, I'll be in touch."

The other man nodded, and left the room. Bentallo just sighed again, and then reached forward and grabbed the telephone on his desk. "Hello? Yes, I need to make arrangements to go to Vienna at once..."

 **Richmond, Virginia. June 4, 2001**

Fred Burkle made her way into the gym, closing the door behind her. In the middle of the room Xander was working out, doing quite a bit of damage to a punching bag. Fred made her way to the bench next to the mat, carrying a small paper bag. She sat down, and waited for a few seconds.

After a series of particularly energetic punches and kicks, the bag shuddered in a manner that made one think it wouldn't be long before a new bag would be needed. "Uh, you're certainly putting the exercise in," Fred observed.

Xander paused and looked over towards the young woman. "I need to do something to get back into shape, Fred. I have people to see before too long, talk about old times with them..."

Winifred inwardly grimaced at that. She was worried about Xander becoming consumed on the inside by what had happened; not that she didn't think Spike and Drusilla shouldn't be hunted down, after all - she was Texan, born and bred. Still, the female genius knew that revenge could sometimes consume the person out for said vengeance, as well as the target.

Fred brightened up and held up the bag. "I brought lunch," she said with a smile.

Xander used his arm to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Great, thanks! I *was* getting kinda hungry..." He then walked over and picked up a towel from the bench that Fred was sitting on.

Fred opened up the bag and set up the sandwiches, chips and drinks on the bench between her and Xander. Harris sat down and asked, "So, what kind of sandwiches do we have here?"

"Barbecue. I know it's not Texan barbecue, but it's good enough for us city slickers," Fred answered, as she handed a bottle of water to her companion.

"Oooh, thanks," Xander said with a grin, right before he took a long gulp. "Anyhow, what have you been up to today?"

"Nothing major. Irving sent me some papers he wanted me to look over for, y'know, ideas. Light reading, mostly," Fred answered.

Xander raised an eyebrow at that. "Light reading? Light for you or light for me?"

Fred smiled. "I'm sure it's not too complicated for you. I can bring them around for you to look at, if you want."

Xander waved the bottled water in mock surrender. "No, no. My poor little brain couldn't possibly take the stress. Let's keep things simple for it."

Fred frowned. "Xander, you shouldn't put yourself down like that. You're very bright, and I-I know Irving is impressed with your work. After all, he wouldn't have kept you on as a student otherwise."

Xander smiled at the compliment from the Texan. "Thanks, Fred. I do appreciate the pick-me-up, and I guess it's just old habit - one that I really gotta break one day! However, I'll still pass on looking over the papers. I haven't quite got that far yet in my studies."

Fred took a bite out of the sandwich, and after a few seconds she spoke up again. "So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I'm not sure, I'm supposed to meet with the physical therapist later today." Fred raised an eyebrow as Xander explained, "I know, I know, after what you just saw a few minutes ago, physical therapy doesn't make much sense to me either. Still, the doctors insist on it, otherwise I guess it would introduce too many variables into their number-crunching little blinkered world! So I go see the therapist and do the exercises. It's a way to kill some time, if nothing else."

"That's so...sad!" At his look Fred hastened to explain herself, "I mean, what you look forward to is physical therapy? You need something brighter. You should get out, and enjoy life-"

"Have you met me? You know the kind of life I have to lead. Not much to enjoy there, Fred," Xander replied a little brusquely.

The brunette woman suddenly got a determined look on her face. "No. I am not going to let you wallow in self-pity! Later today, you and I are going out to enjoy the daylight."

"Fred, I don't know..." Xander started before the woman interrupted him.

"No, no arguments, I am taking you out later this afternoon, and I'm going to show you what real barbecue is!"

Xander shrugged. "If you can swing it with Gunny and Cleburne, why not?"

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. Later that afternoon**

"What the hell's this?"

The reason for Cleburne's question was sitting on his desk, having just been placed there by Gunny. "A good idea," was the sergeant-major's response.

Cleburne leaned forward and picked it up. It was a combination of a wooden cross with the bottom of it sharpened into a stake. "It combines two separate pieces of equipment into one, that's easily handled under combat conditions. I think we should make it general-issue for the troops."

Cleburne raised an eyebrow at Gunny's statement. "Industrious of you! I agree, let's see about mass-producing it. Good idea-"

The Marine noncom shook his head at once. "No, I can't claim the credit for this. Lockley up in Cleveland's been lugging one of them around. Made it herself, even back when she was part of the LAPD."

Cleburne nodded at that, recalling that Gunny had been up in Cleveland during the last few days. "Good for her," the Marine commented simply as he handed the combination cross/stake back to Gunny.

"She seems to have a good head on her shoulders. Would've made a good line officer."

Cleburne leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued. "High praise, coming from you."

"You ought to go see her in action, pick her brain," Gunny continued.

Cleburne looked at Charles Rose for a few seconds. "I've read her reports, and there's no need for me to personally go up there..." Cleburne leaned forward, "But enough about you trying to make travel plans for me. You swung by Richmond on your way here - how's the kid?"

Gunny paused for a second before answering. "He's putting on a good show of dealing. However...he's angry. And we're talking killing angry, Beirut levels. He's increased his personal training time. Reminds me of a coiled snake, ready to pounce."

Cleburne frowned. "Damn. Well, guess I'm not surprised...I'd hoped I wouldn't have to do this, but I suppose I need to." He leaned over and picked up the phone on his desk. "I'm gonna call have to call in my personal expert, once I can arrange the clearance for her."

 **Northern Canada. Later that day**

The tractor trailer made its way along the snow-lined road. The truck driver was making good time. He squinted through his sunglasses, as the sunlight reflected off the snow.

He hummed to himself. Things were going good.

At least, they *were* going good. The trucker suddenly shouted in panic, as a huge shadow passed the road in front of the truck. He struggled to stop the tractor trailer, and not let it slide off the road.

He finally got the rig stopped and stumbled out of the cab, looking into the air as he did.

"Damn, no one is going to believe this..."

 **Richmond, Virginia. June 5, 2001**

The sun beat down as Xander and Fred sat in the city park, Xander's guards discreetly all around them. The Texan woman had finally managed to clear their little luncheon with the brass, and both she and her companion watched the other people taking advantage of early summer sunshine.

They were sitting at a picnic table. And in front of them were the various items for a picnic. "Fred, I've got to say, this was a great idea! I'm definitely enjoying getting out of the apartment for a while," Xander remarked with a rare smile.

Fred smiled at that. "Good, I'm glad you came. The sun and fresh air will do you good!"

Xander nodded. He waited a few seconds before he spoke again, "Y'know, Fred, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I need to warn you about something-"

Fred waved her hand and interrupted Xander. "No, don't you start on that path. I know what you're going to say! 'Cause Oz and I have talked about your past-" She saw his expression and hastened to say, "Now don't get mad, he didn't betray any secrets! He just talked about things any kid who went to your high school would've known. I know you've had problems in your past-"

Xander scowled at that. "Yeah, that's pretty much of an understatement, Fred. Big problems."

"Well, considering your life now, I would sorta expect that you did. If you hadn't, I would think you were getting some major karma payback!" Fred responded energetically, then she started to babble. "Now I know quite a few things about being in a bad place. I mean, living for years in a cave i-isn't conducive to happy thoughts. I mean, I know quite a few things about the black pit of despair, so to speak. I know what it feels like to feel that you're cut off from everyone else. Like you can never go home-"

"Got that right, hell, that Wolfe guy said it best; you can't go home again. And I can't ever go home, on account of home's gone for me," Xander said. "Said as much to the First Evil, too, in between when that asshole Barshon was getting off on using me as his torture toy..."

Fred shuddered at her own bad memories of Pylea. "It's kinda like that for me too. I mean, I never got tortured by the priests, and thank God for that! But no matter what...1996 is no longer there for me, or anyone else for that matter. Xander, you're not alone in your situation. I just hope you don't forget that."

Xander looked at his female companion sadly. "But it's just that...well, I get the feeling that I'm cursed. Anytime someone female gets close to me, bad things happen. And I mean very bad things."

Fred cocked her head to one side, and looked at the young man. "I know things have gone wrong for you in the past-"

Xander spoke up, interrupting her. "They die, they all die or leave or...whatever. That's the funny thing about my life, Fred, how many women I've lost. Faith's dead. Rachael's dead. In the first go-around, lotta other people died too. I mean, how many people do you know that can honestly say - they spent more time in cemeteries rather than places like Lovers Lane, when they were teenagers?"

Fred looked concerned at his bitter tone. "Well, you and they were in a dangerous line of work. I mean, Faith was a Slayer, a-and Rachael was a spy. People do die doing that sort of thing," she said gingerly.

"Well, what about Anya? If not for me, she would have bugged out of Sunnydale and stayed gone before-" Xander caught himself before saying too much.

"Anya?" Fed asked.

"Nothing, forget I said anything," Xander said hurriedly.

Fred thought about it for a second. She then spoke softly, "I, uh, I've never heard you mention her name before. But she was special to you, wasn't she?"

Xander looked away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Xander? It's better to talk about it. Weren't you telling me that a short while ago, when I first got back to this world?"

Xander smiled at that, despite his bad mood. { Six months I've known this woman, if that. How the hell did she ever learn to get under my skin so quickly? } "No fair, you're not allowed to use what I say against me!" he said playfully.

"So sue me," Fred said, her own beautiful smile erupting. "I'm sure the government types have some lawyers around somewhere that you can use!"

"Hmmm, lawyers working for the black ops people. I don't know about you, but I'm more creeped out now than I was before," Harris remarked, shaking his head.

Fred chuckled at Xander's remark, then looked serious. "Tell me about Anya."

Xander shook his head. "Fred..."

"No, trust me. When I came back from Pylea, I didn't want to talk about what had happened, remember? I wanted to stay inside my room, and scribble all over the walls. Well, after I got sick of talking to people who weren't even there! But you know what, you and the others wouldn't let me stay crazy that way. You all saved me from myself. So now, I'm returning the favor. And just so we're clear about this, I'm from Texas, and Texas women do not take no for an answer. So start talking about Anya, tell me about her!"

Harris hesitated for a second. "Fred, the Anya Jenkins I knew and remember...she doesn't exist anymore. Well, not that version of her, anyway; the human woman now living in Sunnydale...from what I've read of Lemke's reports, she's in love with someone else, and has probably never even heard of me-"

Fred was a bit confused, but decided to soldier on anyway. "I don't get that, but I don't have to. I asked about the person *you* knew and cared about, not some stranger. So let's hear it, okay?"

Xander just sighed, and eventually the whole tangled tale eventually began to spill out of his lips. Fred listened avidly, as Harris began to tell her things that not even Oz knew about. With only a slight headache, thanks to the healing effects of the Holy Grail...

As he talked, Xander touched only briefly on how Anya had become human in the original reality; not mentioning any names, only that he had hurt his girlfriend badly towards the end of 1998 and the demoness Anyanka, the patron saint of scorned women, had shown up in Sunnydale to grant her a Wish.

"But what's all that got to do with this Anya Jenkins person?" Fred asked in confusion at this point.

"Well, Anyanka lost her powers when her amulet was smashed, and she became mortal afterwards. She kept the name of Anya, and we eventually started dating after that-"

"You mean, you were romantically involved with a *demon*?" Ms. Burkle demanded, her eyes huge.

"EX-demon," Xander said sharply. "Trust me, Fred, there's a *big* difference! I know, because I had enough of that sort of thing with the Inca Mummy Girl, the Preying Mantis lady, and that shape-shifter bitch who strung me up and stabbed me in the school basement-"

Fred again looked lost, so Xander hurriedly went on, "Long story, for each and every one of them. So, never mind all that for now! Anyway, getting back on topic, after high school was over Anya and I...sort of stumbled our way into a relationship. And there were times when I thought she was the one good thing in my life, post-1999."

"I don't understand something," Winifred said in confusion. "If she was a demon for the last 1100 years, and she became human because of what you say you did...then why is she human, here and now? I mean, didn't you say that all that happened in the first go-around?"

Again Xander sighed. "I know, and until I read about it - I thought 'Anya Jenkins' was someone who didn't exist in this version of reality as well. But call it luck, or fate, or karma...hell, call it whatever you want, but it seems that *something* happened towards the end of 1999 to make her human in this timeline as well."

Fred could instantly see the implications. "And even if you could be around her without the headaches...it just wouldn't be the same, would it? Wow..." She looked at her crush sadly. "It's like something out of Fitzgerald - the man who can have everything but love..."

Oddly, thanks to the Wizard's classes, Xander instantly got the reference. "Do us both a favor, Fred; don't go all Gatsby on me now, okay? I still got a lot more to tell you here."

"Sorry, go on..."

Xander started talking again, going over the events of 2000-2001. He finally finished up, "So there we were in the Magic Box, and suddenly I propose. What does she do? She slaps my face! God, I fell in love with Anya even more than ever after that..."

Fred didn't miss the note of sadness in his voice, though. "But the story doesn't have a happy ending, does it?"

"No," Xander's expression dimmed. "Guess I got cold feet about it, almost the moment after I asked her to marry me. Still, I thought I knew what I was doing, I knew what I wanted - right up until our wedding day. That was the day I left her at the altar-"

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Fred yelled, alerting the nearby guards.

"Yeah. Not exactly my finest hour, I'll admit," Harris said with a grimace. "Still, I honestly believed I was doing the right thing then, trying to protect her from a nightmare that at the time - I was sure was gonna happen."

"Nightmare?" Fred asked in concern.

"One of Ahn's old victims escaped from the hell dimension she'd sent him to, nearly 100 years before. And that guy decided to get vengeance on a vengeance demon, major karma deal - kinda like I mentioned earlier. He showed me some fake visions of the future, where I ended up killing her," Xander said simply.

The Texan woman was lost again. "But if they were fakes, why did you-?"

"Leave Anya at the worst possible moment? Because they could just as easily have eventually come true, whether anyone wanted to admit it or not. Fred, I looked around in the wedding hall at that moment and saw my parents fighting in public - just like the fake Ahn and me had done, in that last vision. That's when I realized I might end up just like my old man one day, and I couldn't subject Anya to that. No way."

Fred Burkle tried to get it straight, and then asked, "So, then what?"

Xander sighed, "What do you think? Anya went back to her roots, and became a vengeance demon again. That bastard D'hoffryn - he tempted her into throwing away her humanity because of everything I'd done, just like he did the first time..."

Fred noticed his sudden angry expression and asked meekly, "Who's D'hoffryn?"

Xander glanced at her, opened his mouth - and then shut it again. Finally he said, "A vengeance demon lord, basically. Oddly enough, he's someone who initially reminds you of an investment banker, if you can look past the horns and demon face. But don't let his façade fool you, Fred; that SOB really loves pain and suffering. I still remember what he said that night when Anya decided to become human again; 'never go for the kill, when you can go for the pain'. Pissed me right off, I can tell you..."

Fred cocked her head again. "So, why not ask the Siberians to help go after him?"

Harris snorted, "He doesn't live in this dimension, that's why. And Pylea was enough for the Siberians, I'm sure! Okay, granted, demon lords of that rank can be summoned to manifest here on Earth. But even if I could figure out how to get him here, I don't have enough intel on how to kill him or prevent him from escaping. Besides, the First has to be my priority right now."

"Right," Fred said dubiously. "But getting back to Anya...?"

The former slave shrugged. "Well, as I said, she became human again after that night during 2002. But it...it just wasn't the same. Deep down I still loved her and she still loved me, but that simply...didn't mean much for us anymore. We had sex one last time, and that was it." Then he chuckled, "Well, apart from that evening during 2003, when the sex-a-thon took place in Buffy's house..."

Fred blushed at once, she just couldn't help it. { Sex-a-thon? Wow... } Then she asked, "So...this woman just disappeared into oblivion after that?"

Xander suddenly looked sick, "No. I was told she died during the final battle against the First. It's one of the very last memories I have of that world."

Fred's eyes went wide. "So that's why you didn't want to talk about her. When you said earlier that the Anya Jenkins you knew didn't exist anymore...she *really* didn't exist anymore..."

"Yeah," Xander said shortly. "But at least whatever happens now, I won't be there to inflict that sort of nightmare on her all over again. Not saying that asshole Andrew is better for her, of course; it's just...I know exactly how much worse things could be. Anya has a shot at happiness, and I'm not going to interfere with it. So good luck to her, is all I can say."

Fred thought for a second. "Well, she's not the only one with a shot at happiness. You, heck, all of us have a second shot now, thanks to you!"

Xander thought for a second. Well, okay, maybe Fred had a point - a lot of people had a chance at happiness now that they didn't 'before'. Still, Harris suspected the law of life was such that in order for some people to have happy endings, others have to get screwed.

 _Morituri te salutant_. We who are about to die salute you, and all that.

"Maybe."

Fred frowned at that. Clearly, Xander needed more saving than she'd first thought. "Xander, listen to me. You're going to have a happy ending, believe me! I'm gonna make sure of it!" she said firmly.

 **STW medical facility, Dallas, Texas. June 6, 2001**

Cleburne followed the orderly through the corridors of the upscale clinic. Here and there patients sat in various chairs, attended to by the staff. After a few moments, the two of them came to bright sun-lit room. And a woman could be seen seated in a wheelchair, reading a book.

"Let me know if you need anything," the orderly said, before he retreated back down the corridor.

Cleburne stepped forward, and opened his mouth.

"Morning, jarhead. I was wondering when you would come here to get me to fix one of your mistakes," the beautiful blonde in the wheelchair said, without looking up to face the Marine.

"I can't come by just to say hello to Miss Texas?" Cleburne asked, as he pulled a chair up next to her.

"Been a while since you called me that. I've missed it," she replied.

Cleburne chuckled. "Well, you'd hear it a lot more often - if you came to Virginia to visit us more than once in a blue moon. I know you can travel-"

"I don't like traveling, I don't want to always be the first one on the plane. I'm not dead," she said bitterly.

"Holly-" Cleburne started before he was cut short.

"No, seriously, why are you here? I know some of the things going on back at the Gulag. I'm still tuned into the grapevine a little," the woman known only as Holly said. "You want to pick my brain, get some advice?"

Cleburne swallowed before starting. "You know about the kid?"

"Alexander Harris, or Hall, or Howard, or whatever name he's using now. Yeah, the Timetripper or whatever that moniker is that's been hung on him. A little out of our usual area of expertise, but I understand you've broadened our horizons during the last couple of years or so," she replied.

Cleburne nodded. "That's him. I've gotten worried about Howard, ever since Rachael Weitz and the Wizard got killed-"

"Spare me your bullshit. Hollins is still alive," Holly said flatly.

"What? No, he got killed when Rachael got taken out," Cleburne said at once. There was an invisible note of unease in his voice, though. { How the hell did she know that? Damn it, not another security leak- }

"Sorry, but if Hollins was dead, you wouldn't be here. You'd be busy dismantling two or three terrorist organizations - in a very nasty and original, and possibly public way," Holly explained.

"We're not entirely sure as to the culprits yet," Cleburne declared, even though that was a blatant lie.

"That won't wash, Cleburne. I *know* you. Even if you weren't sure, you would pick out some targets at random just so that no one thought STW had been affected or crippled by their actions. Keep them off-balance and wondering." Holly shifted so she was leaning towards Cleburne, carefully keeping her left side facing away from him. "Remember? I taught you, I was your rabbi at the Gulag. I know what tricks you'd use, and when."

Cleburne leaned back, grimacing. { Double damn. Why the hell did we ever let her go, anyway? She's got more smarts on half-power than most of the guys I have on staff... } "Okay, so the Wizard's alive and we're keeping it under wraps for now. I trust I don't have to give you the spiel?"

"No. And I take it you intend to sucker-punch the bad guys later on," Holly finished.

"You bet, we know who did it and who hired them. Don't want to tip our hand too soon, so we're going to deal with the hired help first, then those who hired them."

"Who were they?" Holly asked.

"Order of Taraka did the deed, well - they arranged it through a couple of freelancers. Al-Qaeda contracted the hit, although we think there were a few others who may have missed out on paying for the exact same thing within days to weeks," Cleburne explained. "The Order is about to get a really nasty surprise - and al-Qaeda, well, we have plans for them later in the year."

Holly raised an eyebrow at that. "You're worried about Howard?"

Cleburne nodded. "He's taking Rachael's death hard. They were close. Real close-"

"What exactly is he to STW?" Holly asked suddenly.

Cleburne frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Is he an asset? Or a member of the team?" the wheelchair-bound woman asked.

"Originally...just an asset. But after everything over the last 18 months, I'd say he's one of us now," was the Marine's reply.

"Well then, treat him just like one of the men. Don't agonize over how he feels. If he's like Gunny or Red, I'd tell you to do the same thing with him that I did with you in 1983, after you got out of the hospital."

"Take me to a bar in Munich, get me drunk - and pound the crap out of a bunch of neo-Nazi skinheads?" Cleburne asked innocently.

Holly actually smiled at that. "Well, maybe not that specifically, but the general principle would apply. Don't let him sulk, don't let him feel out of the loop. Get him involved and keep him active. Same for you. I imagine Rachael's family isn't too happy with her death, huh?"

Cleburne leaned back. "Well, I've talked to the old man. They're going to be in on the payback. As for Rachael's mother..." Cleburne's voice trailed off.

Holly didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Yeah. Never mind that, it's a can of worms that I'm sure neither of you want to get into now. So what big plans do you have in mind for the bad guys?" she asked.

Cleburne took a deep breath, threw operational secrecy out the window and then proceeded to tell his old mentor everything about Operation Reciprocity.

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. June 7, 2001**

Esther Marcum looked up, as the former FBI agent known as Malcolm Fletcher entered her office. "Good morning, Fletcher. Have a seat, and tell me what you have in mind."

Fletcher took a chair across the table from Marcum. "Good morning to you as well, ma'am. Okay now, I wanted to talk to you a little bit about the way the Siberians hunt for the evil weird in this world..."

Esther raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious, aren't we? You've only been with us what, a year or so?" she said jokingly.

"Well, you all have quite a bit of experience in the field, but I'm thinking a fresh approach might be in order here," Fletcher explained. "Mind you, I'm not criticizing. I just think the bad guys - demons or monsters, so to speak - would be taken by surprise if we shook things up a little bit."

"In what way?" Esther asked.

"Well, you guys have the whole military spy thing down pretty good. No doubt about that, but I think some good old-fashioned police work is also in order." The Siberian agent leaned forward, "Before I came on board here, for a time I was involved in organized crime investigations, you know - RICO and all that."

Esther looked at Fletcher. "Go on."

"Well, the human Mafia and motorcycle gangs, they're organized. Their organization was why they were so effective, and in the end they were the reason law enforcement dismantled them so neatly. Because there are only so many ways to organize an organization. I mean, there's just a limited number of ways to launder money from a drug ring, so the same would apply from a black market magical artifact scheme. Just because demons are running the show, that doesn't mean the methods that brought down the Gambino family wouldn't work."

"Well, I don't know. A Pokhara demon isn't exactly the same as a Mafia don," Esther said doubtfully.

"But a lot of times, their motivations are the same - and so are the techniques. Also, banks treat them exactly the same. Well, those banking officials that know about demons anyway," Fletcher said, in response to Esther's look at the mention of banks. "Human or demon, the bad guys need money or some form of currency. To that end, they need an organization to get the money and to clean it up."

Esther nodded. "True enough. I'll grant you that, but still I'm not convinced-"

"Think about it. I guarantee you that the Watchers Council has never thought to bug the Master vampire getting ready to destroy the world! All they'd do is send the Slayer in. No intelligence preparation, or follow-up. Just hack, slash, and dusty Master vampire; with the minions free to escape and become employed by a new Master, later on. What we ought to try to do is roll up a whole enemy network, at the time of engagement. One fell swoop, not the death of a thousand cuts," Fletcher was getting more animated the longer he spoke.

"But is your way the way to go?" Esther asked.

"Hey, we've been dismantling the Mafia for over twenty years now! I think I know what I'm talking about," Fletcher said with a smile.

"All right, tell you what; sit down and write out a formal proposal. We've been getting some rumblings about demonic activity in Florida, and that might be the place to try out your idea..."

 **Richmond, Virginia. June 8, 2001**

"Kid? Kid, you here?" Cleburne shouted, as he entered the apartment used by Xander and his exiles. He closed the door behind him, and made his way towards the kitchen.

Even though the lights were off, the light from the setting sun shone in and revealed Xander Harris sitting at the table looking out the window. "Didn't you hear me, kid?" Cleburne asked testily.

"I heard you, Cleburne. Just didn't answer you," Xander replied.

Joshua frowned, sat down at the table across from Xander, and placed a bottle down on the table with two shot glasses. Xander looked at the present, "What's this?"

"Bourbon, got a friend from Kentucky who gets it for me straight from the distillery. Good stuff," Cleburne explained.

"And what, you're going to get me drunk? I should warn you - I come from a long line of drunks, and I can out-drink you any day of the week," Xander snorted.

"Hey, I'm a South Carolina redneck who became a Marine. When it comes to drinking, I'm no slouch," Cleburne said as poured the bourbon into the shot glasses. He passed one of the shot glasses over to the former Scooby. "Drink up," he said, as the director of field ops downed his shot.

Xander hesitated for a second, before reaching over and emptying his shot glass. "You can't win this," he said simply.

"Other people have said that to Marines before and come to regret it," Cleburne poured another shot. "We don't lose-"

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Vietnam?"

"Hey! We never got beat in the field, and the decision to withdraw was made by non-Marines," Cleburne replied. "And Lieutenant Colonel James Kean was a little before my personal time, but I'm sure if it had been up to him - we would have never pulled out that way!"

Xander raised an eyebrow at that too, but decided to exercise tact and not pursue the point. "Why are you getting me drunk tonight? I assume that's your plan, to get me plastered. Drown my sorrows?"

"Last chance. Dr. Reynolds shows up tomorrow and I know she won't approve of this, but hey - it's worked for countless soldiers throughout the ages, so I decided to go with the golden oldie," Cleburne explained.

"Dr. Reynolds?" Xander asked with a small amount of dread, as he took the shot glass offered by Cleburne.

"Yeah. Tough old bird," Cleburne said as he downed the second shot. "Known her for almost twenty years, been my doctor for all that time-"

"Hey, all the doctors at all the clinics have poked and prodded me. They gave me a clean bill of health. I don't need another doctor using me as a guinea pig!" Xander said in annoyance.

"Not that kind of doctor," Cleburne replied. "Look, kid, you're slated to be going back into the field soon. Physically, you're about there already; been keeping track of your workouts, no concerns there! However, this line of work isn't physical skill alone. The best weapon in the world doesn't mean squat, if the person using it is all addle-brained. Dr. Reynolds decides who is addle-brained, and whose brain doesn't shake. Way it works, she gives an up check on you before you go back into field ops, and that includes hunting Spike-"

Xander slammed down his shot glass. "Now wait just a damn minute-!"

"No. I know you want a crack at the vampire, hell in your shoes so would I! But I want you in the proper frame of mind, so that you don't make any stupid mistakes. Let that soldier persona in your head make you be professional about all this, kid. You make a mistake and suddenly I'm having to avenge both you and Rachael, and I don't have time for that..."

Xander glared at Cleburne for a second, as the essence of Donald Grant within him spoke up. { He's right. Passions and emotions cause mistakes. And mistakes get you killed... } "All right, I see your point. However, I don't have to like it," Xander finally said as he held out the empty shot glass.

"You shouldn't. Accept yes, be happy with it, hell no!" Cleburne said simply, as he refilled the shot glass.

Xander didn't say anything, as he suddenly remembered how Spike in the previous history had tried to play on his opponents' emotions that time during the first year of college. He had played the Scoobies like a violin too, if one must give credit where it was due. And Xander had no doubt that he would try to do the same in this world, if ever given the opportunity.

{ Doubtful he's ever gonna get it, but still. } "So what now?" Harris asked.

"You need to let the weight of the world off your shoulders?" Cleburne said simply.

Xander blinked at that. "What?"

"That's the problem of youth. Kids like you always think the entire world is their responsibility," Cleburne explained. "They think everything is their responsibility!" the Marine then remarked acidly.

Xander looked at Cleburne. "When did they start teaching philosophy at boot camp?"

"Hey, the whole thing is based on it. Break down the youth so they don't go and do something stupid in the heat of battle, and get themselves and others killed in a hot LZ. We want them to respond in a way that they survive combat, and kill the enemy. Combat isn't as easy as it looks," Cleburne responded.

Xander was surprised at the response. But he just downed another shot and said, "You're full of surprises, Joshua..."

Cleburne chuckled. "That's the plan!" He drank out of his shot glass, and then he stood up. "Come on, drinking is best done in the summertime on the back porch - or failing that, the balcony." He grabbed the bourbon bottle and shot glass, while Xander followed him.

As Cleburne stepped out to the balcony he spoke up, "So, kid. Tell me again about this Spike fella, and more importantly - how we can best dust the soulless bastard..."

 **Caritas Karaoke bar, Los Angeles, California** **. Later that night**

The green-skinned waitress known as Ametila expertly balanced a tray full of empty glasses, as she headed towards the kitchen of the demon club. It was a busy night tonight in the establishment, and all the waitresses were running around like headless chickens-

"Hey, Ametila."

She looked up at the fellow waitress who'd called her name, who looked like a combination of a woman and a cat. "Yeah, Gillian?"

"He's here," Gillian said with a smile.

"Who?" Ametila asked.

"Oh come on, you know who! He's at the bar," Gillian answered.

Ametila did in fact know who, she'd known even before she looked out the kitchen door at the bar. Sitting there was the redheaded naval officer known as Commander Michael Byrne, who had long ago been nicknamed Red by Cleburne. He saw Ametila looking through the kitchen door, and he instantly smiled and waved.

Ametila smiled brightly and waved back. She then ducked back into the kitchen. "You two going out tonight?" Gillian asked with a knowing grin on her face.

"If he's still here at closing time," Ametila said simply.

"Oh he'll be here, sweetheart. We both know he's got it bad," Gillian said with the smile still on her face. "So what's it like?"

"What?" Ametila was confused.

"Human love," Gillian said. "I mean - come on, he's not a demon like us, so why the leap into exotic land?"

Ametila thought for a second. "I like him. He's...special."

Gillian frowned for a second. "Well, I suppose it's fun to experiment with a little fling and all, but-"

Now Ametila frowned as she interrupted, "Fling?"

"Sure. I mean come on, girl friend! You can't be thinking the relationship is going to last forever, can you? I mean, a demon like you and a human like him? Puh-lease," Gillian said knowingly.

Ametila thought for a second. "I don't know, stranger things have happened. Besides, after you've had a human? Trust me, you don't ever want to go back..." she said with a grin while walking back into the club, leaving a slightly puzzled Gillian behind.

 **Richmond, Virginia. June 9, 2001**

Xander groaned, as he slowly came awake that morning.

His head was not in good shape. Harris could tell from the sunlight on his face that he was still sitting in the chair on the balcony, where he had been drinking the night before. He shifted his foot, knocking over a shot glass as he did.

Some of the events of the night quickly came back to him. The bourbon had loosened his tongue, and Xander had spoken about Spike - and not just the facts, but also his pet theories.

Like the vampire had actually pretended to be Billy Idol for a while, on a dare. And that had led to some drunken singing...

" _It's a world of demons_

 _A world of fear_

 _But there's still one hope_

 _That we all hold dear!_

 _It's a woman that we trust_

 _To find ways to kick their butts_

 _It's a Fred world after all!_

 _It's Fred that we all call friend!_

 _It's Fred that we call genius!_

 _It's Fred that we call Siberian!_

 _It's a Fred world after all!_

 _EVERYBODY!"_

There were some hazy memories of the Texan woman howling with laughter over that, along with Oz starting to play the guitar for a proper sing-along - or maybe that was all just his brain making stuff up, in order to try to deal with the pain as best it knew how. Harris honestly didn't know right now.

Banishing such thoughts, a quick check showed Xander that he was alone on the balcony. "Damn, how did he do that?" Xander wondered out loud, as he held a hand to his forehead. "I should have been able to drink Cleburne under the table..."

"Don't feel too bad. You came damn close," Cleburne said as he walked slowly onto the balcony, carrying two glasses of a reddish liquid. He handed one of them to Xander. "Last night, kid? You proved you can keep up to me in a drinking contest, and there's not many who can make that claim in this world! I've just had longer to take some aspirin," the Marine said, as he sat down in an empty chair.

"Oh no, I'm not going to be the only adult here. You two need to grow up!"

Xander looked into the apartment, where a middle-aged blonde woman was standing with a severe look on her face. She continued speaking, "Cleburne, what the hell have you done this time?"

Without looking behind him, Cleburne spoke up, "Kid, meet Dr. Christine Reynolds, USN. Dr. Reynolds - meet the kid, otherwise known as Alexander Howard. And basically kid, she's here to tell me if your brain is all there..."

 **Twenty minutes later**

Xander took another gulp of the reddish liquid that Cleburne had given him. The Marine had said it was some sort of tomato-based hangover cure, and the former Scooby did admit to himself that it seemed to at least deaden the pain from last night's drinking binge.

Of course, it wasn't really helping with Xander's main problem right now; a scowling Christine Reynolds sitting across the kitchen table from him. Oz was absent from the apartment, and Cleburne had cleared out when Reynolds had started making her displeasure at his antics known.

In fact, Cleburne had muttered something like "Kid, you're on your own!" while Reynolds had said she would talk to the USMC colonel later about what he had done. Fred had been persuaded to go with Cleburne, although Harris got the feeling she wasn't too happy about that - her protective instincts in overdrive at the new female intrusion in her life.

For now though, it was just Xander and Dr. Reynolds in the apartment. And in a nutshell, the young man was hung over, irritable - and not in the mood to deal with some goddamn shrink!

"This is not how I wanted to meet you."

Xander looked up at Reynolds' comment. "Well, to be honest - right now I would have preferred you passing up on the honor, myself," was his reply.

Reynolds ignored that. "So, Cleburne explained who I am?"

Xander sighed. "Yeah. But look, I've been through all this before - say, you ever hear of a Dr. Angleman?"

Reynolds nodded slowly. "Oh yes, and I've even met him once. He's enjoying his stay at that clinic in upstate New York. Quite the little mind game you played on him, I have to say..."

"Hey, I just told it to him the way it is!"

Christine permitted herself a snort. "And yet somehow, I suspect that it involved a little bit more than that! Other people know about the way things really are in this world, and handle it quite well; well, better than others," the woman said, as she nodded towards one of the empty bourbon bottles Cleburne had put in the garbage bin.

"Look, doc, let's face it - some people just can't handle the fact that humanity isn't at the top of the food chain. That we're just walking Happy Meals for things with fangs and sharper teeth," Xander explained. "Don't you think?"

Reynolds' brow crinkled at Xander's comment, taking it somewhat personally. "I've been doing this since 1983, you know. As Joshua's doctor, I know all about the shadow world that the man on the street is ignorant about-"

"Well, newsflash, but the world of spies and terrorists is vastly different to the one of demons and vampires! Fairy tales are real, and they bite," Xander said grimly. "I don't know what you've gone through with Mother Hen, but just knowing that demons are out there can't adequately prepare you for what really goes bump in the night!"

The blonde doctor actually smiled at that. "You underestimate the good colonel. I'm quite prepared for bumps, I know all about Innsmouth. And I've even seen some of the prisoners from that raid."

Xander raised an eyebrow at that. "You've seen the demons caught back then?"

Reynolds nodded. "Oh yes, I went out to Warehouse 23 a couple of days ago, so that Cleburne could introduce me to the demon aspect of the job. Those fish creatures, they're leathery old things just laying there in their tubes. Their eyes don't even blink."

Xander looked thoughtful for a second. Reynolds continued, "By the way, Joshua's told me about that high school swim team incident you filled him in on. Granted this is just my opinion, but I don't think these creatures are the same things at all. I didn't see any spark of humanity in them."

"So Mother Hen told you some things about me, big deal. That doesn't really change anything," Xander declared far too defensively, unable to help it.

"Of course it does, it helps me treat you better! A good doctor has to know as much as possible about her patient. However, I would like to hear it directly from you. Your past, that is."

"Nothing to tell there," Xander instinctively tried to stop Reynolds from delving into his background.

But the blonde woman just smiled. "Oh, come now - everyone has a past and a story to tell. And your story is quite interesting, you have to admit! It made you who and what you are today."

Xander rolled his eyes. "And that's such a happy story, isn't it?"

"You tell me...oh, wait. What should I call you?" Reynolds suddenly asked.

"Alexander Howard. For now, anyway," Xander answered pragmatically.

Reynolds thought for a second. "Cleburne told me your real name last night, before he left my office - and obviously came here, for his...nefarious activities. Now, I know the reasons why you use the alias and everything, but for our purposes during these sessions - your real name is the one we should use, don't you think?"

"Whatever."

Reynolds adjusted her attitude a little. "All right. So then, Xander Harris, why isn't your life a happy story?"

Xander looked at the doctor in amazement. { First Fred, now her. What is with the women in my life nowadays, do I put out some sort of 'hurt puppy' vibe? Huh, maybe Larry had the right idea after all - God rest his soul... } "Doc, you know my situation, or so I'm told. So you should know why I'm gonna be a hunted man till the day I die - and you ask me why my life isn't a happy story?"

Reynolds raised an eyebrow, adjusting her attitude a bit more. "You've got your health, protection and friends. There's a lot of people out there who would say that's more than what they have-"

"My health? Come on, I'm some kind of physical and mental freak - who should guest-star in the next Highlander movie! Protection? I live in a gilded cage, by any other name, even if I accepted that voluntarily. And friends...well, at least they're better than the ones I had in high school," Xander blurted out, not liking how Reynolds was attempting to get under his skin this way.

"Tell me about them," Reynolds said at once.

"Well, there's Oz, I've known him ever since I was 17 years old. Good candidate for a Jedi Master, and also a guy who plays one mean solo guitar riff! Then there's Fred-" Xander started, before being interrupted by Reynolds.

"No, I meant those friends of yours from back in high school-"

"Sorry, but I'm not going to talk about them. Not here, not now, and not with you. I don't care what kind of field op override you can generate within the system, that topic is off-limits," Xander said, a look of annoyance and determination on his face.

Reynolds contemplated her new patient for a second. { He's becoming far too hostile and defensive, even for a first session! Best save all that for another time, let's concentrate on the immediate problem for now. } "Okay, what about Rachael Weitz?"

Xander suddenly looked more annoyed than ever. "Dr. Reynolds, you *really* don't want to get inside my head that way. Because if you do? Here's a quick run-down of future events. Within a month, you'll start having bad dreams and nightmares from all the things I'll tell you about - especially with regard to Pylea. Within three months, I imagine you'll be seeing your own shrink on a very regular basis. Within six months, you'll be facing a review board on whether or not you'll be allowed to keep your license; remember what happened with Dr. Angleman? And within a year, odds are you'll be on the wrong side of the doors of a padded cell, just like that place in New York!"

"Mr. Harris-"

But Xander just kept on going. "That's what my problem with head shrinkers is really all about, you know, apart from the Maggie Walsh factor. My life, everything about me...it simply can't be categorized, classified, labelled or pigeonholed - like the rest of the people on the planet that you guys deal with. And hey, the world that you and your colleagues live in? In my opinion, it's a fool's paradise; but enter my world, and I promise you that you'll soon find yourself locked out of the Garden forever..."

Christine Reynolds just sighed. This was obviously going to be a *long* day.

 **Ministry of Defense, Stockholm, Sweden. June 10, 2001**

"Private Sven Fridolin reporting as ordered, sir!" the blonde man in the Swedish Army stood at attention in front of a large ornate desk.

The officer sitting behind it casually returned the salute. "At ease, private. Your English, I'm told, is very good - so for the purposes of this meeting, let us use that language, hmm?" He then went on, "It is my understanding that you were an exchange student in the United States for a while, were you not?"

Sven, who had indeed been the 1997 exchange student assigned to Cordelia Chase in Sunnydale back then, assumed the 'at ease' position familiar to military personnel all over the world. "Yes sir, I was a student in a small town located in southern California for two weeks."

"And how did you find that experience?"

Sven frowned, as he recalled how badly Cordy had treated him then. But then he inadvertently smiled, remembering how he had scored with her friend Gwen the night of the international dance - before eventually leaving the Hellmouth. Then he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression, "I found America to be a very interesting place, sir."

The Swedish general nodded, keeping in mind that Sven might have actually met the Timetripper back then; which gave his military career an unexpected boost light years beyond that of any of his immediate comrades. "Have you ever thought of continuing your education there?"

 **Starburst chamber, Naracoorte Caves, South Australia. June 11, 2001**

{ Stupid lousy desert of a country... } the female vampire known as Darla grumbled to herself, as she made her way towards the center of the cave. { No wonder Angelus and I never wanted to come here in the old days! }

It had been quite a long road getting here, as a matter of fact; ever since the trip to Mexico had failed to tell her what she'd wanted to know, the blonde woman had decided to head down under to find a shamaness that she'd heard could answer any question you asked - for a price.

And *this* pregnant vampire had plenty of questions, to be sure.

It was late at night, and this place - which six months ago had become a national park - was currently closed to the public. But that hadn't stopped Darla from getting into the limestone caves, which had been around ever since the Pleistocene era; before the Old Ones themselves had been thrown out of this reality.

Finally she arrived at her destination, and looked around...

And suddenly, Darla couldn't move.

"You risk your immortal existence coming here before me, dead thing."

In an instant, the entire chamber appeared different. Stalactites and stalagmites were suddenly everywhere, glowing with an intense luminescence. And the fossils of creatures extinct for eons lay before her - along with a black-skinned and grey-haired old woman, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cave.

To her relief, Darla found that she could still talk. "You're the one they call Truganini?"

The old woman chuckled. "An ancient name, best known for the last of an extinct people - who were all killed by the white man, one way or another. Did you know that when the original Truganini died, she wasn't even allowed to rest in peace? Her skeleton was exhumed, studied for scientific purposes, and displayed for decades in a museum..."

Darla ignored all that. "I have questions. I was told you have answers."

The shamaness squinted at her, as well as *through* the ensouled creature. "I see light surrounded by a darkness. A vampire with a human soul? It's not every day you see something like that...very well. Ask your questions, dead thing."

"My name is Darla," the vampiress shot back bitingly, really wishing now that she could move. "You annoying old woman!"

The human chuckled mirthlessly, and gestured around. "You think I'm old? Look around you, dead thing. This cave is the final resting place of *things* that were ancient, when your kind were mere *victims* being hunted down by the Turok-Han..."

Darla felt a thrill of terror shoot though her at hearing that. "You're lying! The Turok-Han are just a myth-"

Truganini just brushed that aside. "Ask. Speak. We can settle the price later."

Darla took a deep, unnecessary breath. "How is it possible for a vampire like myself to get pregnant?"

The shamaness squinted again. Darla wasn't even four months gone, but a slight bump was visible - that might have been explained away by a recent eating binge. Or a vampire blood belly, or whatever. "Come closer..."

Darla cursed as her body was manipulated like a puppet on strings, and she walked forward. But before she'd even taken three steps, Truganini looked alarmed and shouted, "Stop!"

The female vampire instantly came to a halt. The old woman said in amazement, "Something new under the sun, after all this time..."

"What?" Darla demanded.

"You carry a son. A male child, a miracle - life, that somehow arose from death," Truganini whispered in complete astonishment at what she felt from her companion. "And you will not be able to kill it while it sleeps inside you, if that is another question you wished to ask me; this baby is protected by the strongest mystical forces I have ever felt. SOMETHING wants your child to come to term."

"My son...his name is Connor," Darla said slowly, somewhat in a daze and thinking about Xander's letters all over again. Suddenly she blurted out, "Have you ever heard of anyone named Xander Harris?"

"The warrior seer? You know him?" the shamaness demanded, as the Timetripper's legend had by now made it even to here, a cave at the bottom of the world.

A shrug. "I know *of* him, and likewise he knows of me. Apparently I met him a number of years ago, when the man was nothing but some nameless human teenager, but he told my son's father-"

"Evil. EVIL!" Truganini shouted, suddenly sensing the arrival of a malevolent intruder - invisible and noncorporeal, but still present nonetheless.

The First Evil.

"GET OUT! And never return, dead thing!" Truganini then screamed, even as she gestured frantically and forgot about anything regarding payment for services rendered.

Darla blinked for less than a second, suddenly finding herself alone in the darkness. "What-?"

But there was no sign now of the shamaness, or anything else - apart from the empty chamber. Clutching her belly protectively, the female vampire just made her way back towards the cave entrance - with more questions now, than before she'd entered this place...

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. June 12, 2001**

Esther Marcum held the door to her office open as the two men came in. "Good morning, gentlemen, come in - have a seat..."

The two men, one of them in military uniform, quickly sat down as Esther made her way to the chair behind her desk. "So, Agent Fletcher tells me we can provide some help to our neighbors up north-?" Marcum started to ask.

The two men exchanged glances and the civilian started out hesitantly, "Well, this is all highly irregular..."

Esther actually smiled at that. "Of course, most of what has gone through this office for the past couple of years has been of the...strangest nature. However, I shouldn't interrupt - please go on," she nodded at the two men.

The uniformed one spoke up, "The local RCMP forwarded certain information onto Ottawa. Some discreet inquiries led us to the former FBI agent named Malcolm Fletcher, and he in turn directed us to you..."

He looked at his civilian counterpart for a second. After a nod, the officer handed over an envelope to Esther. "I know these look utterly fantastic, but nonetheless - we've identified them as also being completely authentic. We've been led to believe you've encountered something like this before?"

Esther took the envelope and opened it. She pulled out the pictures that were in it, studied them - and then nodded. "Indeed, but not to worry gentlemen. We've successfully dealt with this sort of creature before, as a matter of fact - I already have someone in mind to help you out..."

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Forty-five**

 **Richmond, Virginia. June 25, 2001**

Xander controlled the recoil of the Sig Sauer 226 pistol perfectly, as he fired off a round towards the paper target at the end of the target range.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Harris quickly shot off three more rounds in quick succession. He could see the paper target shake from the impact, as the bullets slammed home. Xander then lowered the pistol, and took off the ear protection he had been wearing.

Suddenly, the paper target whirred to life and started coming to the shooter on its mechanical track. Xander looked behind him, and saw Cleburne pressing the button to bring the target to the firing line.

The Marine just glanced at Xander. "Wolfie told me you were down here," he explained.

"Just getting some target practice in," Xander responded. As the fact was that the apartment building had recently had installed a soundproofed shooting range in the basement, for exactly this sort of purpose. It seemed having a USMC colonel as a landlord held some unique advantages, as far as Xander's personal desires were concerned.

"I heard, they tell me you're spending a fair amount of time down here - and it shows," Cleburne remarked, as he took the paper target down off its track. "All kills," the secret agent said as he examined the four holes where the heart would have been on a human.

"It's not good enough yet, though, I can feel it. I need to get my old edge back," Xander replied. "But at least it's a start. And it was easy, really - all I had to do was imagine certain faces on the target."

Cleburne raised an eyebrow, and Xander said simply, "Spike and Drusilla."

Joshua frowned. "Just don't be unprofessional about this, okay? You know the old motto - be prepared."

Xander shook his head. "I was never a Boy Scout as a kid, there was never a chapter in Sunnydale then. Mayor Wilkins introduced them later-" And then just for a moment, he smiled wolfishly over the fate of that soulless demon-wannabe.

"Pity," Cleburne said simply, making a note of Xander's expression. "It was a great learning experience, being in the Scouts..."

Cleburne put a new target on the track, and sent it down to the end of the range. He produced his trademark .357 caliber revolver, and picked up a spare set of ear protectors. "Cover up, kid," the man said absently, and Xander in response put his own set back on.

The Marine sighted in and fired off several rounds. He then brought the target back to the firing line. A quick examination of the target showed five holes in the head of the humanoid outline.

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Five holes?"

Cleburne shrugged. "I shot more times than you did." Cleburne then holstered his pistol and the two of them started walking away from the firing line. "By the way, Dr. Reynolds says she thinks you're making progress-"

Xander harrumphed loudly at that. "I still don't like shrinks messing around inside my head, Cleburne. They always seem to find things up there that they don't like-"

"Well, what do ya expect, that they'll put you on the front cover of 'Sanity Fair'? Good grief, kid, after that first session a few weeks back - Reynolds was ready to recommend that you get put into the psycho ward immediately!"

Xander stopped at once. His eyes went hard and flinty, and instantly Cleburne decided to backtrack. "Well, but that was never an option of course. I had to explain it to the good doctor that there was an Executive Order preventing her from ever doing that."

"The President signed an Executive Order?" Harris asked suspiciously at once.

Joshua fished around in his jacket, and produced a piece of paper. "Here."

Xander read the paper slowly. "Executive Order 13206, Termination of Emergency Authority for Certain Export Controls?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to get yourself exported into the loony bin, right?"

Xander shrugged. "Good point. Remember Dr. Angleman?"

Cleburne rolled his eyes at that. "Kid, Angleman was Walsh's protégé from day one, which really don't speak well of his stability in the first place! Anyway, bottom line, Reynolds says she thinks you're good for field work, well - one of the two minor ops we're planning right now."

Xander got angry over that as they started walking again, he just couldn't help it. "I'm not some green rookie-"

"I know you're not. But in our line of work, well - burn out and fatigue is a real danger. I'm not throwing you into the deep end only to watch you drown."

Xander grumpily didn't respond to that. Cleburne continued speaking, "Besides, where we're going is beautiful country this time of year. Real Nature TV stuff. Outdoors will give you a chance to reflect and recharge your batteries."

"Oh, great, I'm going to go find myself. So where are we headed, Tibet?"

Cleburne shook his head. "No, no, let's not get the Chinese all riled up sending you there! In fact, we're going to Idaho."

"Idaho?" Xander said, reminded of that episode with Razor's gang last year. But then he doubted that he would be allowed into some sort of combat zone like that again so soon. "What, there's a potato demon on the rampage over there?"

The mismatched duo finally came to the elevator that would take them back up to Xander's apartment. "Nothing of the sort. Small town up there is complaining of a demon clan eating their cattle, and the like. Thought we should go and take a look," Cleburne said as the two of them stepped into the elevator.

"Just don't expect me to be happy about all this," Xander replied grouchily.

"Well, to be honest, kid - how happy can anyone be living in Idaho?" Cleburne said with a slight smirk, as the elevator doors closed.

 **Private Mansion, outskirts of Vienna, Austria. June 26, 2001**

The minion entered the chamber, suppressing a shudder as he did so.

He was always just a little unsure of how to handle his employer, even though by her standards he had lasted an awfully long time in his job. This undead woman had a nasty temper, after all, when things did not go her way.

The servant gathered up his courage, and approached the window where she was looking out at the night sky. "Mistress?"

"Yes?" the one-time Countess Bathory said without bothering to turn around.

"I have word from the Order of Taraka," the retainer said as calmly as he could.

"Them again?" Bathory sighed. "I thought they had already carried out their assignment!"

"Yes Mistress, indeed they did kill the human child known as the Wizard," the retainer said, not knowing that this information was in fact false. "However, there's some additional information that's just come to light. It appears that the one known as the Timetripper was only wounded during the assassination."

That caused Bathory to turn around in a sudden rage. "The Timetripper, he's still alive!?"

"According to the information - he died but was resurrected afterwards, Mistress," the retainer said in a respectful tone, even if he was instantly quaking on the inside. "Thus, the Order is claiming that technically, their work was still carried out to the letter if not the spirit of the contract involved."

Bathory played with the wine glass she was holding, somehow dampening down her furious annoyance. "Damned imbeciles. And they'll probably want to get paid again to do the job right the next time, won't they? But never mind that for now. The enemy was effectively only wounded, you say - but how badly?"

"The Order only knows that he was shot and in the local hospital for a short while. Since then, the man has not been seen again."

"Haven't they been able to find out anything else? Surely their people on the scene knew more than just that!"

"Mistress, the Order did not admit it to me - but I have nonetheless learned that in actuality, they used the one known as William the Bloody to carry out the assassination. This was in exchange for paying off a debt of his to the Order, that was incurred a few years ago."

Instantly, the Bloody Countess was back in the Rome of 1894 for a moment; when she had crossed paths with the four members of the Scourge of Europe. "Spike, hmmm? Most unprofessional of them, I have to say. He's far too...sloppy in his work," Bathory said in distaste.

"There is more, Mistress.'

Bathory nodded at her servant. "Go on."

"The Order apparently received triple the payment you agreed to for the assassination."

The former member of Hungarian royalty frowned at that. "How is that possible? They certainly didn't get that much money from me!" she said crossly.

"Indeed not, Mistress. However, besides yourself, two other entities provided payment. The human terrorist group known as al-Qaeda contracted for the assassination of the Wizard. Wolfram & Hart contracted with the Order as well, although it is currently unclear as to who exactly they wanted dead."

Bathory looked thoughtful. "I assume that if you were able to find this out, others were also able to."

The servant knew that the truth was the wisest policy on that. "Mistress, I do not know for sure-"

"Then find out!" Bathory snapped.

"Yes, Mistress." The retainer started to leave the room.

"Wait!" Bathory said, as something else occurred to her. "Find out more about the Timetripper's situation. If the humans believe that it was someone other than us who was behind that attack, I may be able to address the problems facing us in a different way. Find out all you can, also...find out about the Timetripper's past."

"Yes Mistress, is there anything in particular you wish for me to focus on?"

Bathory smiled in a sly way. { Men may think they rule the rule the world, but in actuality they're ruled by their own libidos. Ever it be so for all of them, once they hit puberty! } "Yes, learn everything you can about his girlfriends."

The servant nodded. "As you command. Ah, I'm already familiar with some of the legends-"

"Indeed? Why?" Bathory frowned.

"Merely a personal hobby, Mistress, once you indicated your interest in the Timetripper to the Immortal. But to begin, there is that Hebrew woman, the one who was recently killed at the same time that the Wizard was. There is also that dead Slayer, whose soul was recently the property of Wolfram & Hart-"

"What?" Bathory exclaimed, showing surprise for once in her un-life.

"Such is my information, Mistress. And while I'm not sure if she should be included after all this time and their acrimonious parting, apparently there is also that female seer that's the minion of your old acquaintance, Angelus. She's the only one of the three still alive, if that is relevant."

The breathtakingly beautiful female vampire just got another sly look on her face as she purred, "Interesting..."

 **Kingman's Bluff, Sunnydale, California. A short while later**

Giles used his arm to wipe sweat from his forehead. He sat down on the ground, placing the map he had been carrying down next to him.

"I don't even know where the damned thing is, maybe if I got a really big shovel..." Giles muttered, but unfortunately for him, not softly enough.

"Sorry, Mr. Giles? What did you say?" Andrew asked.

Giles sighed. "Just contemplating that there has to be a better way to find that temple..."

The Englishman regretted having only been able to get Andrew to help him in his search. Jonathan had briefly left town; and the girls had either been unavailable, as the case was with Buffy, Tara and Anya, or the task in question was too delicate for them to help out, as was the case with Willow.

After all, Giles wasn't quite ready to have the redhead help look for a Satanic temple that in a year or so she would have raised from the ground, in an attempt to destroy the world - according to Xander's third letter.

Mind you, Rupert hadn't been quite that blunt with Willow, having found a more polite and subtle way to avoid having her help. The witch hadn't read all the letters from Xander yet, after all. So Buffy and Giles had sworn Dawn to secrecy, and didn't see any reason to burden Willow with the details of future crimes that they hoped would never come about.

To that end, Giles was doing his part to make that possible future never occur. Thus, he and Andrew were spending time here on Kingman's Bluff. Andrew didn't know the exact reason they were there, though; he thought they were looking for a demonic nest. And in a sense, this wasn't a lie; after all, back in 1932, the worshippers of Proserpexa *had* been present there in force and about to destroy the world.

In any case, Andrew nodded to Giles' remark about simplifying the search somehow. "Maybe a sonar search? I, uh, I think I could rig something up..."

"You can?" Giles asked. "Ah, you do understand though that the nest is underground, not underwater?"

Andrew waved a hand above his head. "Yeah, right, of course! Underground, I mean, we can use ground radar instead - um, Anya could probably find something on ebay that's pretty cheap. I-I think. And there's gotta be a cavern or whatever where the nest is, right? Like in ' _Lord of the Rings_ ', when Frodo was..."

But upon noticing the Watcher's face, Andrew quickly focused. "So, yeah, anyway, we can try focusing on finding that, it'd be easier..."

Giles thought for a second. It seemed a surprisingly good idea, but the problem he had was with his companion setting it all up right. Giles had heard enough of Anya's rants on Andrew's shortcomings that he almost as a matter of course considered anything the young man did as suspect.

The former Watcher had no way to know though what the Trio would have accomplished in that history that Xander remembered, and what Andrew was truly capable of. Which included helping set up surveillance cameras all over Sunnydale, assisting in building a freeze ray, providing input on perfecting that invisibility gun, and getting free cable porn for himself, Warren and Jonathan to enjoy.

Still, all things considered, the ground radar did seem like a good idea.

"Very well, Andrew, we'll give it a try. Talk to Anya as soon as possible and we'll proceed from there, hmm?"

 **Poling Springs, Idaho. June 27, 2001**

"Look, my herd of cattle has been cut in half - and I know that this story of wolves on the loose is just complete and utter crap! Wolves don't eat the carcasses whole, and they don't drag them off to store them elsewhere either. This is something else altogether!" the rancher declared.

Xander was listening only halfheartedly to the cattle rancher's tirade. Cleburne and Cyrus were paying much more attention, though. But the local sheriff was paying even less attention than Xander, since it was a rant he had clearly heard before.

"How long have your cattle been disappearing?" Cleburne asked.

"Disappearing? Hell, they've been a late night snack for those creatures up in the mountains for weeks! They're like Bigfoot without hair, but they also have horns," was the man's response.

Cyrus spoke up. "So you've seen them, then?"

The rancher seemed a little surprised by that question. "Well, no, not exactly. I mean, not a good look. On account of it's always dark and they move so darn quickly, staying away from the light. Jenkins, uh, he saw one, shot at it when it attacked him..."

Cleburne looked at the sheriff for a clarification. "Jenkins has the place about ten miles to the south. We'll be heading over there next," the lawman explained.

Cleburne nodded at that, and turned back to the rancher. "Mr. Lay, until we know for sure what kind of creature we're dealing with, it's probably best that you don't try to approach any of them. You might get hurt. Let us do our job."

The rancher harrumphed. "Well, then, hurry up and do something about the problem, okay? I'm losing money every day, and I'm sure I'm not the only one around here that that's happening to!"

A few minutes later, the three new arrivals were all in the sheriff's Blazer as he made his way to the Jenkins ranch. "You'll have to pardon Mr. Lay, he's always been a tad difficult to deal with," the sheriff explained.

"How long's he been here?" Cyrus asked in his distinctive guttural accent.

"About ten years or so, moved here back in the early 90s I think. And I can understand why he's upset about losing cattle; even during the best of times, he doesn't turn that much a profit. He tries, he really does, always talking about expanding his ranch," the sheriff answered as he pulled in front of Jenkins ranch house. "Now Jenkins here, his family's been working this land since before Idaho was a state."

The aforementioned Mr. Jenkins came out the front door as they approached the house, warily looking at the four. "Morning, sheriff," he called out. "Come about the dead cattle?"

"You bet, Art. These guys are from the Forestry Service, they're here to look into the animals that are doing the killing."

Jenkins peered at the three Siberians. "Never seen you gentlemen around these parts before," he commented.

"We're from Alaska, they had a problem similar to this a few years back. We're here to see if it's the same animals that are doing the attacking," Cleburne answered, picking Alaska as their origin knowing that anyone from Washington would most likely be under a cloud of suspicion with the rancher.

Jenkins thought for a second. "Come on, then," he said, motioning them into his kitchen. Once there, the rancher continued on doing what he had been doing when Xander and the others had arrived; fixing himself lunch.

Xander exchanged a look with Cleburne. They then both looked at the sheriff, who just shrugged his shoulders. Cleburne mentally sighed and then spoke up, "So, when did you problem first start?"

Jenkins didn't even look up as he answered, "About four of five years back, had a barn cat disappear every once in a while. Didn't think anything about it at the time; but looking back now, it's obvious I was losing 'em quicker than normal-"

"Barn cat?" Xander blurted out.

Jenkins looked up at Xander. "I thought you guys were supposed to know what you were doing," he observed dryly.

"He's a newbie. We're still teaching him the ropes," Cleburne quickly explained.

Jenkins looked at him for a second, then continued on. "Yeah, well, the cats I had in the barn to take care of the rodents, they disappeared every once in a while. Then about six months ago, something started messing with the cattle..."

Jenkins paused for a second before continuing. "Now, losing a barn cat, that's one thing. Man can always pick up another stray to get rid of the damn rodents; but my cattle, I need them to make money. I can't have them killed and their carcasses left out on the range! I have enough trouble as it is making ends meet, and dead cattle doesn't help."

"Could it be a bear or some other large animal doing the attacking?" Cleburne asked.

Jenkins shook his head. "No, I know what a bear attack looks like. Besides, I saw them a few times. They walk upright like a bear, but they're weird-looking."

"How so?" Xander asked at once.

Jenkins thought for a second. "Weird. Color of pea soup, skin all baggy and their ears? Floppy, like something from a Disney cartoon."

Xander nodded his head, but on the inside he was drawing a conclusion he didn't like. "About the height of a man?" he asked.

Jenkins nodded in return. "Yeah, at first it was taller than the ones I saw, at least I think so. With the cattle attacks though, they looked bigger than me. And originally, it was only one or so at a time. But the other night, during the last attack I saw four of them running away when I started shooting!"

Cleburne glanced at Xander, who nodded his head. He then turned to the cattle farmer, "Mr. Jenkins, I think you've given us everything we need for the moment. We need to make some calls to the office in Anchorage, but we'll be back in the next couple of days at most..."

The trip back to the hotel was taken up by small talk, as none of the Siberians wanted to talk too much in front of the sheriff. When the sheriff left their company though, Xander spoke up. "Something isn't right here. There are demons present, all right, but something just doesn't add up..."

"What do you mean?" asked Cyrus.

"For one thing, I'm sure Mr. Jenkins is lying about something." { And hey, it's quite the coincidence his surname is the same as the one Ahn chose way back when. Or is it? }

Cleburne just looked at Harris speculatively. "I'm assuming you have your reasons for saying that?"

Xander nodded. "Didn't you guys notice the inconsistencies in the descriptions of the demons, between Mr. Lay and Mr. Jenkins? And that guy seemed far less upset about all this, than Lay was. Not to mention how Jenkins acted a bit too casual with the sheriff, for my liking."

"That's not much to go on," Cyrus said, playing devil's advocate.

"Yeah, well, I've learned to trust my instincts. They're what kept me alive for 4 1/2 years in that slaver hell dimension," Xander shot back. { Holy cow, has it really been 2 1/2 years since I came back from there? It feels like a lifetime now. } "I'm thinkin' we'll need Oz. Cleburne, call Virginia right now and tell him I want the guy to join us out here, soon as he can."

Even as Joshua sardonically dipped his head in acquiescence, deep down he was pleased that Xander finally seemed to be getting back into the swing of things, issuing orders that way. { Kid's definitely officer material. Hmmm, maybe if he manages to last another 15 to 20 years doing this, one day I can even groom him to be my successor... }

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. June 28, 2001**

"You need to get out and have some fun!" Willow declared to her best friend.

Buffy sighed. "Will, I really don't feel like it-"

"Oh, come on! How long's it been, Buffy? Y'know, since you went out on a date or even to a party? It's been all Slayer mode all the time for you, hunt 'n stake. All work, no play..." Willow said playfully. "It's going to make Buffy a dull girl!"

Willow took a sip from her soda can, as she finished that statement. The two of them were in the Summers residence dining room at that moment, going over registration papers for the fall semester at UC Sunnydale. Surprisingly enough though, Willow had been the one to start talking about non-school things, as recently she had really been wanting to get into the whole college-y experience.

"Well, what do you wanna do, Willow? Hang out at the Bronze? I can do that. Hey, I do that already!" Buffy replied.

"Aw, Buffy! Bronzing it? Like, whenever you're there these days, you're just cruising for vampires to slay! Looking for them anyplace you can think of. It's like you miss it, when there was more vamp activity here on the Hellmouth - and every night had someone going grrrrr..."

"Guess I'm just not in the mood for partying and meeting people, Will. What with Mom's recovery, Dawn adapting to her new status in life and everything else, I just don't want to play at being Joan Co-ed," Buffy replied.

She started back up before Willow could reply. "Besides, I have too much on my plate right now; the job at the gallery, helping Mom at home and keeping my little sister in line. I don't have time-"

"Okay, that's it! I'm making my Resolve Face, see? Buffy, I am gonna get you to put aside the Slayage and everything else for once, and *make* the time to go out and have some fun. Whether you want to or not!" the redhead stated emphatically, pulling her features into that famous classic look.

Buffy looked at Willow fearfully, as she had long experience with Willow's resolve face. Her former fellow Scooby/friend Xander had once warned Buffy all about it. And it had once had an almost magical hold over that former class clown, but that had all changed before their senior year in this world - for obvious reasons.

Still. On Buffy, though not as effective, it got the job done.

Buffy sighed, "Okay, okay, but what can I do? I mean, really, the Bronze is pretty much it here in Sunnydale. You've already said you don't consider that relaxing. And I don't want to go to Los Angeles or anyplace out of town-"

Willow smiled at her victory, halfway tempted to do a Snoopy dance. "Oh, don't worry. Saturday night, I'm taking you to a pool party!"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at that. "A pool party?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, a bunch of us from my old sociology class are getting together for an end of year party by the pool at this apartment complex. We're all allowed to invite a whole bunch of people, and it should be a blast!"

Buffy looked concerned, as visions of dancing conga lines and drunken orgies suddenly passed through her brain. "I don't know if I'm ready for something like that..."

Willow interrupted her, "No, you're more than ready!" She jumped up and started leading Buffy upstairs. "Come on, let's pick out what you'll wear," she said with enthusiasm.

 **Northern Canada. June 29, 2001**

"Base, this is Dragonslayer. Nothing to report so far, I'm heading north for another hundred klicks or so," USMC pilot Major Arthur Hixon said, as he flew his Harrier jump jet above the Canadian mountains.

He scanned the sky in front of him, glancing at the radar screen every few seconds. He could see the blips of the two Canadian Air Force fighters that were his support on this mission.

"Roger, be advised that we've had a sighting about two hundred klicks west of your position," the ground controller responded.

"Copy that. Moving to intercept," Hixon said. He instantly maneuvered the Harrier to the west, in search of his target. He also gained altitude, figuring it would increase his line of sight. "Grizzly, this is Dragonslayer. Form up on me, copy that?"

"Roger," was Grizzly's reply as Hixon's wingman flew his Marine jet alongside the major's. "DS, think this will come to anything?"

Hixon rolled his eyes at Grizzly's use of his informal nickname. "It's out here somewhere, Grizzly, so we'll find it and terminate the bogey with extreme prejudice."

Ever since Hixon had returned from Pylea, he and the other sailors and Marines who had been on board the Wasp had found themselves getting more and more involved in the weird and not of the normal.

Not that they would ever tell anyone about it, of course. First off, it had been made clear to all of them that talking about their adventures would lead to prosecution under the code of military justice for revealing classified information. And military prisons were places to be avoided; on account of it wasn't like in the movies, where those places almost seemed to be like Club Med in comparison to real life.

Secondly, there was also the fact that almost no one would believe anything said by the liberators of Pylea. As far as Hixon knew, the secret had been kept - except for a few servicemen telling tall tales to women in the various bars. And what the hell, no one took off-duty soldiers trying to seduce their dates all that seriously.

In the meantime, they had been sent more and more on little side trips to deal with the paranormal, hence this trip to the Great White North.

Hixon looked on the heat tracking scope that had been installed on his console. After all, there was no guarantee that the target would show up on radar, but it definitely had a heat signature.

Last time he had tangled with one of these things, Hixon had managed to spot it and take it by surprise before it knew he was even there. He knew he had been lucky; and no fighter pilot, well good fighter pilot, relied exclusively on luck.

You took every advantage you could get, hence gaining as much altitude as possible.

"I've got something," Grizzly suddenly said over the radio.

In response, Hixon jerked up on his joystick and took the Harrier jet in a steep climb. His reflexes were sound as a few seconds later, a silver blur shot past to his left, where the Harrier would have been but for the climb.

"Hello there, shiny," Hixon muttered.

Off to his left and gaining altitude was a silver-colored dragon. If Xander had been there, he would have thought that it didn't much look like the dragon that had erupted out of the portal when that *asshole* Doc had managed to bleed Dawn, during that horrible night...

If anything, it resembled more the huge beast that Angel had been destined to face in that LA alley in the pouring rain, after the Circle of the Black Thorn was nothing but a memory.

It was a member of a species that had been confirmed in the pre-mission briefing as hostile. And so Hixon would swear later that it glared at him for a second, before darting off to the north. "Oh no you don't, come on back..." Hixon said as he set the Harrier in pursuit.

"I'm on your six," Hixon heard Grizzly say. He also heard confirmation from the two Canadian pilots.

"Negative," Hixon quickly ordered the two CAF fighters to cut to the south. "Make sure it doesn't escape that way. We'll close the trap."

Hixon then accelerated the Harrier in pursuit. He could see the dragon's wings flapping mightily, but his jet engines were too much for it to deal with and he was clearly gaining on his target.

The dragon noticed this, and suddenly bolted upwards and managed to turn around and face its pursuers.

"Watch out!" Hixon shouted, as he saw a line of flame emerge from the dragon's mouth straight at him. The Harrier jet then dodged downwards to the right to avoid the flame, just as Grizzly's jet did to the left.

"Not very friendly, is it?" Grizzly asked over the com channel.

Hixon turned his jet around and started after the dragon again, who had taken the opportunity of the distraction to dive towards the ground. He applied power to the engines and started gaining on the enemy again, "We'll just try harder to introduce ourselves."

Hixon noted on the scope that Grizzly was following him down. "Careful, remember this dragon has outflown the Canadians every time before now," his wingman warned.

"They're not used to the weird things in life. Besides, they didn't have these birds," Hixon replied. "Keep it busy."

Hixon then triggered his afterburners and zoomed forward in a straight line, flying by the dragon. The creature suddenly widened its jaws, obviously prepared to spit out fire again...

Only to cough a bit, when the cannon fire from Grizzly's jet impacted on its skin. The skin was thick enough to prevent any damage, but the rounds stung nonetheless. The dragon just turned and caught its breath, as it prepared to attack again.

At that moment, Hixon's jet rose up in front of the flying creature. And in the cockpit, Arthur heard the tone of a missile having acquired a target. "I've got tone," he said calmly, as the pilot pressed the trigger on his joystick.

Two missiles shot out from under the Harrier's wings, and shot towards the dragon. Within a few seconds, the missiles impacted on the dragon's snout. The creature roared, but it was quickly cut short as the missiles exploded in a gout of flame and destruction. The motionless dragon then started falling from the sky.

Hixon watched as the enemy fell, with no movement except for the actual falling. "Better make sure," Arthur said, as he pushed the joystick down and followed the corpse, although in a controlled manner.

"Roger that. I've got your back," Grizzly said.

"Don't worry," Hixon said, as he saw the dead creature impact against the ground with the force of an earthquake. "It's done. And looks like we'll need Dennison or someone else to paint a second dragon for me..."

 **Outside Poling Springs, Idaho. Later that night**

Oz looked around the forest. "Odd," he said in his normal taciturn manner.

"I know, Oz, nothing makes sense here," Xander replied, looking thoughtful. "The stories don't match up with the way I've learned demons operate-"

Oz shook his head at once. "Not that. I mean the scents don't match up."

"In what way?" Cleburne asked from nearby. The Siberians had set up shop in the woods near Farmer Lay's place, hoping to catch the demons in the act. Oz had flown in from Virginia earlier in the day, and was now acting as a human/werewolf early warning system.

"Got one group of scents, over that way," Oz pointed to the northwest. "They're definitely not human. Not sure what they are, actually, but I've smelled something like them before in Sunnydale. The others, they're human but with a whole bunch of other stuff mixed in. They're coming from the south, and not making that much effort to hide themselves. Well, not demon-wise that is."

Cleburne thought for a second. "Okay, not sure how that helps, but it tells us there are two groups out there. Maybe some of the ranchers have gone out hunting demons themselves..."

Xander answered that one, "I don't think so. The ranchers we met with besides Lay and Jenkins seemed totally freaked out by what's going on. They didn't seem to be that pro-active to me, not once they learned who they were talking to."

Cyrus spoke up. "I agree, the one who talked about having gone hunting for the hostiles before - he didn't sound too enthusiastic to have another attempt at it."

"Okay, so the local pitchfork brigade isn't out trolling for demons. Let's see who shows up for tonight's show then," Cleburne said, fiddling with something on his belt. "Check the radios when you get in position."

The four men split up into pairs, and went to the chosen locales where they could keep a close eye on the herd of cattle they had selected. The quartet quickly made sure that they were in radio contact, and then settled in to wait.

"How you doing?" Oz asked suddenly, about an hour into their vigil.

"A little cold. Idaho can get a bit chilly at night," Xander replied.

"Not what I meant," Oz said simply.

"I know," Xander answered. { And you know that I know, old buddy. } "It's...well, I'm surviving, on account of it's what I do. Been doing it for so long now, I couldn't do otherwise if I even wanted to..."

Oz thought for a second. "There's more to life than just surviving. You know that, right?"

"For others, maybe. Not for me," was Xander's reply.

Oz looked at his old friend sharply. Before the werewolf responded verbally, he suddenly stiffened and cocked his head, lifting his nose upwards.

"Trouble?" Xander asked.

"Company," Oz replied simply. He keyed his radio to contact the others. "Guys?"

"I know," Cyrus said in response. "I count at least five coming in from the southeast."

"That's not all," Oz said. "I've got two demons coming from the north." 

"It's never easy, is it?" Cleburne could be heard muttering. "Okay, Wolfie, you and the kid shadow the demons, don't get too close. Cyrus and I will start tailing the group from the southeast."

Oz and Xander started moving off cautiously in the direction the musician had smelled the demons coming. Xander trailed after Oz; he couldn't spot any sign of the demons yet, but the man implicitly trusted Oz's senses. They were one of the few things he *could* trust in, these days.

"They're moving to shadow the other group," Daniel commented.

"Not working as a team, then?" Xander asked.

"No team vibes at all, more stalker type vibes," Oz led Xander further in. By this time, the two of them had arrived at a small rise overlooking the cattle. Oz nodded towards a group of trees about 75 yards away. "They're in there. If we try to get any closer, they'll spot us."

Xander keyed his radio. "Our targets are tracking your targets. They've gone to ground, looks like."

"Copy that," Cleburne's voice came back over the radio waves. "The bright boys we've tagged are creeping up on the cattle. Looks like they have no clue we're here, or that they have other people stalking them!"

"What do you think will happen?" Xander asked.

"I guess we wait until these bright boys start whatever they're going to do," Cleburne replied. "And somehow, I don't think we'll have to wait long - as they don't strike me as the patient types."

Xander nodded at that and turned to Oz. "I don't suppose you brought some cards?"

Oz shook his head. "Sorry. No cards."

Xander sighed. "Oh, well."

The two of them were quiet for about a minute or so. "You ought to come out one night to see the band play," Oz said suddenly.

Xander looked at Oz. "Are we talking about the one and only group known as 'Werewolf Dan And His Screaming Demons'?"

The younger man shrugged. "We've been discussing getting a new name..."

"You guys've gotten better since then?" Xander asked with a half-smile.

Oz shook his head. "No, it's just you need to get out from time to time. Can't stay cooped up inside the apartment forever, y'know. Betcha Fred would love for you to take her to one of our gigs."

"And yet somehow, I can't help thinking that Mother Hen would blow a blood vessel if I told him I was taking a date to an alternative music concert," Xander said with a sudden grin. "Mind you, I enjoy giving him a hard time, but doing that kind of needless damage to the guy is too cruel - even for me."

"He'll understand. Man knows that you're not a machine," Oz commented.

"Have you told him this, pal? 'Cause sometimes, I wonder," Xander said with a smirk.

"He's worried. We're all worried," Oz declared.

"Don't be," Xander said simply.

"Can't help it, we're friends. All of us," Oz replied.

Xander softened a bit. "Look, I know you mean well, Oz. But this is just something I have to-"

Xander was interrupted by Cleburne on the radio. "The bright boys are making their move. Hold on!" Both Oz and Xander tensed in preparation for something; what exactly, they weren't sure.

Suddenly, the cattle started lowing fearfully and acting in a panic.

"Ah, shit!" Cleburne said suddenly.

Xander and Oz exchanged a glance. "What's happening?" Harris demanded.

A few seconds later Joshua responded angrily, "They're slaughtering the cattle! The bastards are really botching the job, too. Like they're intentionally doing it the wrong way-" There was silence for a few seconds, as Xander and Oz heard the sound of helpless farm animals being callously murdered not far away. "Okay, this has gone far enough! Get ready, we're interrupting this blood-fest right now!" the Marine colonel decided.

From across the range, Cleburne's voice carried in loud tones. "Federal agents, drop your weapons! On the ground, now!"

There was a series of incoherent shouts in response, and the noise of many people running.

"Damn it! Don't make me have to chase you!" Cleburne was heard to shout. This was followed by two gunshots.

"They're moving!" Oz said as he bolted up. "Come on-"

Xander followed the running Oz, as they went into the group of trees where the demons were. The werewolf darted ahead as Xander lagged behind, { This is pathetic! I need to work on my fitness a lot more, } Harris thought acidly to himself.

Ahead, he saw a flash of movement as Oz ran into the trees. Xander could also hear Cleburne shouting nearby, and clearly that man was not happy with the response he had gotten regarding his orders to the first group.

Xander ran into the trees where Oz had gone into. And suddenly, Daniel was in front of him. "They split up!" He pointed to the left. "Go that way and head one of 'em off, I'll chase the guy towards you." With that, Oz ran off the in the opposite direction.

Xander caught his breath for a second, and then ran off in the direction his partner had indicated. Running in the woods in darkness was always a challenge, so Xander was careful to not fall or interact too much with the trees. Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of him, and Xander had a quick flash of floppy ears...

Xander jumped forward, and tackled the owner of said ears to the ground. "Damn it! Will you stop trying to run for it!?" he shouted, as the former slave wrestled with the demon on the ground.

"Let go!"

"No. Just hold still already!" Xander shouted back at the figure he was still struggling with.

Oz ran up to join the party. "You got him," the werewolf observed.

"Yeah, but he's feisty-" Xander stood up, pulling his prisoner up with him and finally getting a good look at his prisoner. Xander then frowned in semi-recognition, "Clem?"

The floppy-eared demon shook his head. "Hey! I'm not my good-for-nothing gambling addict cousin. Whatever Clement owes you, it's none of my business..."

 **Five minutes later**

"Get over there!" Cleburne growled, as he pushed a man in front of him. Cyrus came up several feet behind the two of them, as they approached Harris - who seemed to be alone.

"You got one as well?" Xander asked.

Cleburne noted Xander's statement with interest. "You found something?"

"You might say that," the former slave said, as he pointed behind him. Sitting there, with Oz watching it, was a wrinkly-skinned and floppy-eared demon.

"Hey, come on, you guys can't do this! I haven't broken any laws, and you've got no reason at all to hold me," Clem's lookalike cousin said in a grumpy tone.

"You've been busy," Cleburne commented.

"What can I say? I sorta ran into him, and turns out we have a mutual acquaintance," Xander explained.

The nonviolent demon grimaced at that. "Hey, mister, I don't know how you know Clement - but believe me, next time I call Sunnydale? I am so going to 'talk' to him about that!" The others could almost hear the quotation marks around talk, as the supernatural creature spoke. Cleburne frowned, somewhat worried about the security implications...

Xander wasn't worried though, as in this timeline - Clem had no idea who he was, as far as he knew. There was little to no chance the Scoobies would find out the big secret, thanks to Clem's relative shooting his big mouth off.

Cleburne then pushed his prisoner forward. "Get over there with your friend."

The prisoner stumbled forward, stopping himself before he could fall on the demon. "Keep that thing away from me!" he almost screeched.

Xander rolled his eyes at that. "Come on, here you are pretending to be a demon - and you're afraid of the real thing? Suck it up and be a man!"

"That *thing* ain't human, it's some kind of freak," the human said as he scrambled away.

"Hey, who are you calling a freak? *I'm* not the one running around in a costume and gutting cows!" Clem's cousin snapped back.

"A good point," Cyrus said. To emphasize said point, the South African threw the tattered costume the man had been wearing onto the ground before all those assembled. Cyrus then said to the human prisoner, "He was just loitering. *You* were engaged in acts which we could probably send you to jail for."

"Hey, we had permission!" the man replied.

"I'm sure the sheriff would be interested to know that," Xander commented carefully, watching the prisoner's face.

"Yeah? Shows what you know!" the demon said sarcastically.

Cleburne looked from his prisoner to Clem's cousin, trying to figure all this out. Then he said, "Okay, I figure that between the two of you, I should be able to get the complete story on what the hell's going on here - so start talking! And by the way, the longer you take to cough up? The more annoyed I'll get. And believe me, you don't want to see me get angry..."

 **The former Imperial Palace, Pylea. A short while later**

Not long after both suns had set the warrior once called the Groosalugg, but now known more simply as Groo, walked swiftly down the corridor of the closest thing he could call home.

It had been a long six months for him and the rest of the Pyleans, ever since Xander Harris had arrived in this dimension. Because basically, there had been a drastic upheaval in society around here, as centuries of human enslavement had ended and the local demons had had to adapt to doing all the horrible jobs the menial 'cattle' had done.

After the Siberians had departed, Groo had embarked on a path of trying to achieve redemption for years of blind faithful service to the Covenant of Trombli. And his life right now was rather different to what it would have been in the original history, where he and Cordelia had met and fallen in love back in May...

Namely, Groo wasn't in command of the kingdom, after Her Majesty "Princess Cordelia" had left him in charge and departed back to LA with her friends. In this reality he was just another citizen around here, trying to live in a land where social confusion, economic depression and even the occasional riot wasn't at all uncommon.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn't all that bad; as after all the Green Berets and civil affairs people from Earth had managed to curb the worst of the roller-coaster transitional disasters to democracy. And oddly enough, Groo gave never-ending thanks that he wasn't the focus of all the human committees that had formed since then; committees that had also splintered into factions, factions which had become coalitions, coalitions that had turned into subcommittees, and so on ad infinitum into that most cruel of all homicidal creatures...

Bureaucracy.

Groo was content just to carry out the needs of the interim government, and try to maintain at least some semblance of order in Pylea. And the truth was, his reputation as the Groosalugg had been worth its weight in gold when it came to defusing 'situations' between the human and demon citizens. After all, no one with an ounce of sanity in his head was willing to risk getting hacked to pieces, if Groo should ever happen to lose his temper.

As the big guy walked along, he wondered what news the Major would have to impart tonight. The human soldiers from Xander's kingdom had certainly developed a good intelligence-gathering network, in the six months they had been here. It rivaled anything the Covenant had been able to put together, in the bad old days.

But just as Groo arrived outside Silas's former chambers (he who had been publicly executed, three days after Xander and his friends had left back in January), the champion suddenly heard his name mentioned...

"I think you're wrong in not wanting Groo to take care of that situation over at the scum pits of Ur," the SF Major pointed out to the two former rebels known as Sasha and Bartok.

The two Pyleans exchanged a look. "We happen to disagree," Sasha said shortly.

"You're letting your feelings cloud your-" the military officer started to say.

"Feelings?" Bartok snarled out. "You mean how even though the Groosalugg killed my wife and daughter last year, I should simply ignore that in favor of...expediency?"

The military officer adjusted his green beret. "Look, I know the guy killed a lot of your people when he was working for those demon priests. But that's all in the past now, right? I mean, as soon as he figured out the truth, Groo's done nothing but try to help. I've been watching him for nearly half a year...and are you telling me that he *hasn't* helped before now?"

"No," Sasha said reluctantly. "I will admit, the creature has been of tremendous assistance - especially in the early days, after the fall of the Covenant. But I still think his services are better off being put to use in hunting for that renegade priest, Barshon-"

"Oh, come on! No one's actually seen that guy in months. Even if he's still alive, he's not worth Groo's time to chase down anymore!" the human from Earth said heatedly.

"Perhaps not militarily. But then, I'm sure you know how Barshon's also become a...a symbol of sorts," Bartok said carefully. "For the demons, he's like the last remaining vestige of the old order. A beacon of hope for its return one day, if you will. And the symbolic value of having the number one enforcer of that regime bringing him before the new government, is worth far more than ridding those scum pits of Bleaucha demons..."

The Major had to privately admit that Bartok might in fact have a good point there. But putting that aside he said, "Well, then, let's move on to the next order of business, shall we? Namely, what's been happening in the factories-"

"If this is about the proposed production of Pylean guns and ammunition, save your breath," Sasha interrupted. "We need them, on account of you and your people will be leaving and going home someday, and the Groosalugg won't be around forever either."

"I understand that. But the word on the grapevine is that you're planning to use them to commit genocide," the soldier said with a disapproving look on his face.

Bartok snorted. "I only wish! Because the only good demon is a dead one. But you can relax, even the radical elements within the government know that that would instantly lead to an all-out war. And we've lost enough people over the centuries as it is! No, the guns are for peace-keeping only. And so that we can finally rid ourselves of the need for the Groosalugg's services!"

The conversation continued, but Groo didn't bother to listen anymore. He just turned and walked away, as he began to contemplate all that he had just overheard.

{ We were both right all along, Xander my friend, } the half-breed thought to himself sadly. { One day soon, even sooner than I had anticipated, my presence here will no longer be welcome. And when that time comes, I will indeed have to seek redemption elsewhere. }

Groo began to consider the possibilities. { I haven't forgotten how I promised you that you would be the first person I would come looking for, once my duty here had been fulfilled as best it could be. Because, Xander Harris, in all the universe - you are the only person I can truly call friend! Yes, perhaps it is time I began to plan for my departure from Pylea. And a fresh start elsewhere is more tempting now than I'd ever imagined, what with all the hate stares lately... }

 **Local Sheriff's Office, Poling Springs, Idaho. June 30, 2001**

"Any idea at all? Nothing? All right, let me know when you hear something," the sheriff said, hanging up the phone as he finished. "Rayburn!" Sheriff Johnson then shouted.

The summoned deputy hurried into the office, cursing the fact that it was late morning by now and he still hadn't had his cup of coffee. "Yeah, sheriff?"

"Get over to the hotel and find those Forestry agents. Then bring them here, I don't care how you do it. Arrest them if you have to for not having the proper colors for hunting season, or whatever. Just get 'em here pronto!"

"Yes sir," Deputy Rayburn said as he left the office. But a few seconds later, he came back inside, "Sheriff?"

The man looked up in annoyance. "What? Were my instructions not clear?"

"No. It's just that they're here, Sheriff, coming in through the door right now!"

"Well, it's about time!" Sheriff Johnson said grouchily as he stood up.

"But something's weird. They have Gerald Collins with them in handcuffs!" the deputy blurted out.

"What? What the hell is going on here?" the sheriff said as he exited his office, and made his way into the lobby.

Present were Xander, Cleburne and Cyrus, escorting another man who had clearly been arrested. And if Sheriff Johnson had been there the night before, he would have known that the prisoner was the same man that Cleburne and Cyrus had captured in that demon costume.

"Hey there, sheriff. Missed you last night, huh?" Xander chirped, as he ceased to annoyingly whistle 'Yankee Doodle Dandy'.

"Hang on, kid, I'll handle this," Cleburne said before the sheriff could reply. "Sheriff Johnson, I'm afraid that under the circumstances we're going to have to use the county jail to house this prisoner and some others, till they can be transferred to Boise."

"Now hold on just a darn second! I want to know exactly what's going on. Just 'cause you're federal agents you can't just march in and grab up local citizens willy-nilly..." Johnson looked obstinate.

"Actually, this man ran into us," Cyrus commented cheerfully in his distinctive accent.

Cleburne glared at the South African for a second. He turned back to Sheriff Johnson, "Willy-nilly? No. Mr. Collins here was arrested last night after gutting cattle in a Halloween costume," Cleburne explained.

"You have proof of that? Witnesses? Until I learn otherwise, you're gonna have to let him go," the lawman said stubbornly. "You're just here in an advisory capacity, remember?"

"Well, that's what you thought. But actually we came here to see what was really going on around these here parts, as part of our federal mandate. Imagine our surprise to get caught up in a live action version of Scooby Doo!"

A frown was the only response from the policeman. "I don't like your attitude, and I won't have this malarkey going on during my watch. Is that clear?"

"Well, to be honest, I can understand why you're upset," Cleburne said somewhat snidely. "See, Collins here was kinda talkative after we started interrogating him last night. And what we've learned - well, neat little scheme you had going here, I have to say. You and your friend over at the property tax office found out about the state's plan for building a dam a few years down the road. You then got...friendly...with the local state senator to make sure you chose where the dam was built, right?"

"Mister, I don't like what you're hinting at!" the sheriff snapped back.

Xander started talking now, continuing Cleburne's explanation. "Thing is that after you could pick where the dam was gonna go, you could also figure out how to get the most profit out of your, uh, inside knowledge. See, I used to be in construction - that's how I know you can't just put a dam simply anywhere, the lay of the land won't allow it. The better the land is for the dam, the higher the price for it. And you and your merry little band of plotters wanted top dollar, right?"

Sheriff Johnson silently glared at Xander, undoing the strap on his personal sidearm. "How am I doing so far?" Xander asked, as he started wandering around the office.

"Pretty good, keep on going," Cleburne replied laconically.

Xander smirked and started up again. "Well, let's see. Sheriff, best as I can figure it, you knew what land would bring the most bang for your buck. And so you wanted to get your hands on it. 'Course, there were two problems with that..."

As Xander spoke, the man noticed another deputy drifting into the room. He went on, "You simply didn't own the best land. Other people like Mr. Lay owned it, and you didn't want to share the loot. So you had to get those people to sell their properties, in order to cash in on the dam construction scenario. You didn't want to have to pay too much for the land either, it'd cut into your profit margin. So you had to make it so that they'd willingly sell at a loss. It had to happen quickly too; you couldn't risk word of the new dam's construction getting out, now, could you?"

Xander walked over to the side of the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Of course, the second problem was there too. Now it's public record how you and your pals grew up around here; apparently your families have been in Idaho just this side of forever. You knew all the local legends. Also knew there was some truth behind them. Had to make sure that part of it was taken care of also, am I right?"

The sheriff snorted, "Son, I don't know what you're on. However, it's taken you on quite a trip!"

"You have no idea, sheriff, of what kind of trip I've been on ever since five years ago!" Xander's comment was rewarded with looks of consternation from his companions as he added, "Anyway, you obviously thought to yourselves, why not kill two birds with one stone. And the real bonus would be convincing Uncle Sam to do the real dirty work!"

"Dirty work?" one of the deputies said in confusion.

"Yeah, taking care of those people living on the land," Xander answered as he put down the coffee.

"But they'd be selling the land, wouldn't they? What kind of dirty work would be even be necessary?" the other deputy, Rayburn, asked earnestly. Earning himself a glare from the sheriff.

"No, the people selling the land wasn't who I was referring to. I'm talking about the various tribes living in the area."

"Tribes? You mean Native Americans?" Rayburn asked again.

Xander shook his head. He was genuinely happy that these two cops seemed amazed and disturbed by what they were hearing. Maybe it was just a few bad apples around here, after all. "No, not Indians, demons. In particular, the ones known colloquially as Face-dancers. Interesting species, apparently they can grow tentacles out of where their faces are! But generally they're nonviolent, the worst thing I've ever heard about them is that they eat live kittens-"

"So do the French," Cleburne growled. Xander looked at the Marine and he added, "Spent some time with the Legionnaires in Djibouti during my younger days. You wouldn't believe what they fixed up to eat sometimes, out in the desert," Cleburne explained.

Xander continued on, "Well, they've been living here for years, not really bothering anyone. Still, they'd need to be moved once construction for the dam was underway..." Harris then turned his attention back to the sheriff. "And you came up with the bright idea of scaring the landowners, and blaming it on the Face-dancers. The ranchers were sure to scream bloody murder, but lose enough cattle and they'd sell out for the price you wanted. Right?"

Cleburne took up the narrative. "Plus, you'd have the complaints of the ranchers to justify calling in someone to take care of your demon problem. You'd heard the rumors of what happened down near the Utah border last year, and how the army took care of that motorcycle gang. The same thing could work here, Uncle Sam would finish the job for you by removing the unwanted evidence!"

"Then you just sit and wait a few months till news of the dam gets announced. You sell the land, for a substantial profit of course, and you're rich with everyone who might be able to figure out what had really happened either gone or removed by the government. And the government wouldn't say anything anyway because, well, demons don't officially exist now, do they?" Xander concluded. 

The sheriff, who had gradually become beet-red during the exposition by Harris and Cleburne, just stared for a second. "This has *got* to be the biggest load of crap I've ever heard, without it actually being bullrag in a pasture! What I think is that you arrested poor old Collins here like some goddamn Nazi storm troopers last night, just for laughs. Then got him to tell you that crazy story for whatever reason. Yeah, that's it! He told you this fantasy so you would stop slapping him around. Gentlemen, I would say you guys are in for a world of hurt-"

Johnson withdrew his gun from its holster - but somehow, impossibly, Xander was right there in front of him and jamming a Sig Sauer directly into his crotch. The two deputies then went for their own weapons, but the sound of Cleburne and Cyrus cocking their pistols and pointing them at the cops quickly persuaded the pair of the foolishness of that plan.

For his part, Xander just grinned directly into Sheriff Johnson's face. "To quote from one of my favorite movies, go ahead. Make my day!"

The sheriff was briefly tempted to call his bluff, but then he saw Xander's eyes.

There was utterly no mercy or human compassion there. Just an eagerness to do severe bodily harm. Johnson suddenly *knew* that he'd be singing soprano for the rest of his short and miserable life if he made one wrong move, so his firearm fell to the floor and then everyone relaxed.

"Smart choice. And by the way, your buddy Collins didn't tell us anything," Cleburne said, as he put away his .357 revolver. "We pieced it together from the other fellow we caught, and research a friend of ours did back in Virginia. After all, the corporate records have to be filed somewhere. They were the starting point which led to everything else."

The sheriff almost snarled, "You can't prove any of it. And if you have the mind to meddle in things that don't concern you, well, you're all alone up here in the mountains. It'd be hours before anyone can get up here from Boise!"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously, you're assuming that we didn't take that into account before we rolled up here this morning. You've clearly not been to the National Guard base since last night, huh? Also, there's a whole bunch of locals who want to talk to you about your little scheme, I'd guess they've heard the rumors by now. Sheriff Johnson, you got some 'splaining to do!"

Another deputy entered the lobby with a worried look on his face. "Sheriff?" he said.

"Not now!" Johnson waved off the deputy, as he glared at Xander. "Just so you know, I am the elected police official of the people of Poling Springs. Not only that, I'm loved here in town; I've been elected four times without an opponent. No one is going to say boo to me!"

"Interesting choice of words, Mr. Elected Official," Xander said with a smirk.

"Sheriff, you really need to-" the deputy interrupted.

"Will you shut up!?" Johnson suddenly shouted.

"I think he's trying to tell you to look outside," Xander said, pointing.

The sheriff eyed the Siberians for a second, before he went to the nearest window and looked out. "What the hell..." he said in disbelief.

Xander moved to where he could look out the window over the sheriff's shoulder. The street outside was filled with demons that all bore a resemblance to Clem; floppy ears, baggy skin and all. Not to mention an unpleasant expression on their faces.

"Like I said, I think some of the locals want to talk to you. And look, some people from out of town as well! Oh, see that guy over there?" Xander pointed at a human amongst the demons, just as a black Crown Victoria pulled up and Malcolm Fletcher plus several other FBI agents got out.

"He's a demon rights activist, by the name of Toby Dupree. Never heard of him before today, but apparently a lot of folks in LA and Washington swear by the guy. They think he's practically a saint, and are willing to die for his ideals. Guess he musta learned somehow that something hinky's been happening around here, huh? So, sheriff, what do you think is gonna happen once he asks the Face-dancers what's been happening to them lately?"

Sheriff Johnson quickly turned around to stare at the man he knew as Alexander Howard, but as he opened his mouth - the policeman suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say, that wouldn't just make matters worse...

 **Later that day**

"How about hamburgers? With all this prime beef around here, there *has* to be some great burger joints close by!" Xander said happily as he and his three associates walked out of the sheriff's department.

"Kid, I'd have thought that after all the pancakes you had this morning, you wouldn't be thinking about food until sometime next week," Cleburne commented.

"I'm a growing boy. Need my vitamins," Xander replied.

"Do pancakes have vitamins?" Oz asked. This question got the other three to stop for a second.

"Ya got me on that one," Cleburne said while shaking his head, as one of the local demons came up to them. "Hello."

"Hi," the Face-dancer replied, who was actually the same guy they had captured the night before. "Just wanted to know - you guys *were* serious about all this, weren't you?"

"Well yeah, we meant what we said last night," Xander replied.

"No tricks?"

"No tricks. You'll get a fair shake from now on," Cleburne said.

"Dupree said something about the sheriff's department needing new deputies. And that some of us might want to apply. A demon cop, who would have ever thought it?" the demon nicknamed Ray said, shaking his head.

"Why not? We once had a demon vice-president," Cleburne commented.

Ray looked confused for a second. "I thought Gore was a robot?"

"No, I meant Agnew. Hey wait a minute, Gore's a robot?" Cleburne asked in disbelief.

"I think it's a cool idea. You ought to apply for the deputy position; whoever the new sheriff's gonna be, he's going to be needing help dealing with the new situation here in town, now that you guys aren't in hiding anymore. And who better to help keep a lid on things, if the people from Boise start poking their noses around here?" Xander said.

Ray looked at Xander suspiciously. "Okay, I gotta ask. You really know my cousin Clem?"

Xander thought for a second. "Kinda. I guess you could say so, I met him under somewhat...odd circumstances. He won't remember me though, that's for damn sure!"

"You're the Timetripper," the creature formally known as Ray-of-light said suddenly, as he had an epiphany. And Cleburne blanched at this observation.

"Come on, that's just a myth, there's no such person! He doesn't exist," the STW director of field ops quickly recovered.

Ray looked at the Marine with a skeptical look. "Yeah, just like demons, vampires and trolls?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "I've heard of this person, you know. And my opinion, he's just urban myth and rumor. Y'know, funky psychedelic groove guy and all that jazz," Harris lied as best he could.

"Riiiight," Ray said slowly. "Well, as he doesn't exist, then my tribe can't really express its appreciation to him. And that we owe this person who doesn't exist a great debt. We're an honorable people, you know, and we'll honor our obligations to this person who doesn't exist. We also honor those who do exist for what they did," the demon said with a nod to Cleburne. "Thanks, for everything."

Ray then turned around and walked back to the town hall, where Toby Dupree had set up shop. The Siberians watched him go.

"Let me see if I got this straight," Cleburne said with an annoyed look. "I do all the heavy lifting, plus Cyrus and I catch the local yokel which enables us to start the path of clues which let the Wizard figure it out for us from Washington. Then I arrange for the cavalry to come from out of town and get Fletcher all lined up to do his G-man routine. And yet, I have to share the credit with someone who doesn't officially exist?"

"Yeah. But then you're not in it for the glory, are you? After all, *I'm* the one who had to talk the demons into coming to town," Xander asked in a teasing tone, as the four walked to the car.

Cleburne frowned at Xander. "You're buying lunch," the man said simply, as he opened the driver's door.

Xander looked surprised. "Is this so I can contribute to the Cleburne retirement fund? I mean, you guys don't give me that much money!"

"You live rent-free, kid, I think you can afford it," Cleburne said grouchily as he got into the car, followed by the others. And thus, they were shortly on their way out of town.

 **Sunnydale, California. Later that night**

"I had a wonderful time tonight," Buffy Summers said sweetly to the young man whose arm she was hanging off.

Surprisingly, Willow had been proven right as to Buffy enjoying a night out. Even if when Willow and Tara had arrived at 1630 Revello Drive to pick her up, just as she'd acted a few days ago - the Chosen One had not been looking forward to all this. She had been trying to think of a graceful way to get out of going, but luckily the Wiccans had refused to take no for an answer.

"Guys, maybe tonight's not the best time for me to go out and par-tay? It's just, I-I've been meaning to discuss that dream I had regarding the First Slayer with Giles again, a-and Dawn's been on my case about the shenanigans between him and Mom in her bedroom the other night, and-" the Summers girl had started to say.

"Uggh! Buffy, that's it! You gotta come with us!" Willow had said in no uncertain terms.

"Yeah, she's right...y-you need to be Buffy tonight. Not the Slayer," Tara had agreed with her beloved.

And so Ms. Summers had finally given in. However, when they had arrived at the apartment complex, Buffy had quickly found herself enjoying the chance to socialize and not worry about things that went bump in the darkness. Being an attractive and unattached young female, there had been no shortage of eligible young men who'd wanted to talk to her. Thus, Buffy had quickly fallen into her old Hemery High habits of being the center of attention at a party.

In particular, the center of attention for Stoddard, a junior majoring in economics. He was preppy, but more importantly to Buffy, he was also cute. So the beautiful blonde had found her attention focusing on the dark-haired college boy during the pool party. One thing had led to another, and as the party was ending, the young man had asked if he could walk Buffy home.

The young woman had accepted, on the theory that him walking around after dark with a Slayer was definitely a better idea than doing so without one. Buffy had told him she was spending the night at the dorms, in Willow's room. That way, she could walk Stoddard home and not have her mom asking questions about a new potential boyfriend.

Because although Joyce was getting to be more mobile these days, using her cane with ever-increasing frequency, she was still looking for things to do around the house to keep busy. And knowing everything about her daughter's social life was one such thing.

In any case, Buffy felt she should at least be allowed to *acquire* a boyfriend before Joyce sent him running off in terror. To say nothing of running in terror from her nighttime job.

"So, you're a psych major?" Stoddard asked, in reply to Buffy's remark of having had a great time so far tonight. "Getting to know people and all that?"

"Oh yeah," Buffy replied.

"Any type of people in particular?" the young man was grinning while talking.

Buffy smiled back. "Well, cute boys are my favorite."

"Well, well! Two sweet snacks before bedtime!"

Buffy instantly felt the presence of several vampires, as one of them stepped out of the shadows. { No, no, no! } she wanted to scream. { Can't I have at least *one* night off from the damn Hellmouth? }

"Hey, get lost fella," Stoddard said firmly, as he stepped in front of Buffy. And the Slayer was actually touched by that gallant action of her potential boyfriend.

"Tell me, big mouth, you wanna know exactly how much blood you have inside your body?" the undead guy asked in amusement. "'Cause I could tell you. And I can tell you're a little anemic...not much, but still!"

"How'd you know that?" Stoddard demanded.

The other vampires stepped out of hiding. And Buffy noted that they had managed to surround her. { Damn it, I have *got* to work on sensing the damn things earlier! } the Slayer thought to herself, knowing that her problems in sensing vampires had caused her and her friends problems before.

"Look, man, we don't want any trouble," Stoddard said hastily, seeing the 'gang members' all around him and Buffy.

"Fine. We just want a meal," the lead vampire said. "Get 'em."

"Buffy, run!" Stoddard shouted, only to find himself pulled back.

"I'll handle this," the Slayer said calmly and confidently.

Her stake was already in her hand, before she finished saying that. A quick head count showed that they were being menaced by five vampires. One of them, more aggressive and not to mention stupid than the others, ran into the stake as it charged forward.

"Slayer!" the lead vampire hissed out, instantly stepping back.

"Good evening, I'm Buffy Summers. And I'll be turning you into dust tonight," the female Champion quipped and then immediately launched a series of kicks and punches at the nearest vampire.

The bloodsucker parried the blows, but he was just a little too slow. Buffy landed a solid uppercut to its jaw, and it fell to the ground. Buffy briefly leaned down with the stake, and then she was facing three vampires.

She straightened up, "Who's next?" Ms. Summers said with a smile.

Two of the vampires approached her, one on each of Buffy's sides. They were clearly hoping to cause her to let her guard down on one of the sides. So Buffy adapted a strategy that Robert E. Lee would have recognized immediately, in attacking a numerically superior enemy to maintain control.

She did a flying kick towards the one on her left. It connected, and knocked the undead monster back. Her momentum carried her forward to the side of the building bordering the street they were on. Buffy then reached down and grabbed the lid of a garbage can. Without turning, she flung it behind her and it hit the second vampire directly in the chest, knocking him back and giving the Slayer time to concentrate on her target.

She made good use of the time, yanking her current opponent up. Buffy then slammed it hard against the wall, several times. The vampire clearly was in a state of stupor, and the final moment then came when Buffy let him slump against the wall so she could use her stake to administer the coup de grace through the heart. The falling dust marked where the third casualty of the night had met its fate.

Buffy turned to the vampire who had been the recipient of the flung garbage can lid. She had climbed back to her feet, and assumed a fighting stance. "Mother was right all along. You should never send a man in to do a woman's job," the soulless creature snarled.

The Slayer actually smiled at that one. "I agree! 'Course, that applies more to me than you..." She advanced on the female vampire.

The vamp tried a swinging crescent kick that Buffy easily ducked. "You're new at this, aren't you?" the Chosen One asked. "Most vamps, once they know they're fighting me? They'd be running right about now!" Buffy followed that up with a punch.

The vampire shook her head. "Going to bag me a Slayer tonight!"

Buffy almost groaned at that one. "Please, better vampires than you have tried! Besides, the last vampire to kill me, his name was the Master - maybe you've heard of him? Well, anyway, funny thing, but I didn't stay dead and he ended up in little bitty pieces on the ground!" Buffy did a sweep kick that the vampire jumped over, but this allowed the Slayer to roll forward and stand up behind her prey.

"Kinda like you," Buffy said simply, as she plunged the stake through the vampire's back into her heart. The demon's scream was cut short as she exploded into dust.

"Four down, one to go," Buffy then said, wanting to finish this off already. But she had miscalculated in thinking the head hog was gonna go down in a fair fight against her.

"Slayer, put the stake down!" Nearby, the lead vampire stood with his hand firmly around Stoddard's neck.

"You really don't want to do that," Buffy said with menace in her voice. She looked around, taking in the whole street, looking for an angle.

"What? You must be joking. I'm a vampire, it's what I do! Of course I wanna kill him, I'm evil," the vampire snarled back. "Didn't you read that part of the handbook?"

Bad memories of high school were instantly repressed as Stoddard shouted, "What the hell's going on here?"

"Be quiet," Buffy said shortly, trying to concentrate. { Come on, damn it, *think*... }

Suddenly, she jumped up and grabbed the fire escape above her head. The ladder started falling to the ground with a great roar, the rusty iron screaming and attracting the vampire's attention momentarily. It was long enough for Buffy to fling herself forward and tackle both the vampire and Stoddard.

All three fell to the ground. Buffy then leaned back, pushing down with her left hand and used her right hand to plunge the stake downwards, eliminating the last vampire.

"You all right?" the young woman then asked Stoddard.

The subject of her question scuttled backwards in obvious fear. "What...what the hell are you?"

"Hey, uh, I can explain..." Buffy started to say.

"No, no...those things, they knew you somehow. And what you did, that's not - you're not normal," Stoddard's face was ashen as he clambered up. "Look, no offense, and thanks for saving my life 'n all but - stay away from me. Please!" the young man shouted as he ran down the street.

"Stoddard! Wait!" Buffy shouted out fruitlessly. She then watched the no-longer potential boyfriend run out of sight, before the young woman sighed in despair.

"Why can't I just find a nice normal guy, who isn't instantly scared of what I am?" Buffy asked herself hopelessly.

 **Richmond, Virginia. July 1, 2001**

Late during that evening, Xander looked up as the episode of 'Knight Rider' he had been watching on TV was suddenly switched off.

"Go to bed, kid, we're leaving first thing in the morning," Cleburne said from the doorway, the remote in his hand.

Xander frowned. "Hey, come on. It's Sunday night, and we just got back from Idaho yesterday! I'm planning on taking tomorrow off-"

"I don't think so. On account of we're heading off to Germany," Cleburne explained.

"Still not seeing any reason to interfere with my downtime, here," Xander replied.

"Order of Taraka. The plan's finally all set up, and now it's payback time," was the Marine's terse response.

The memories instantly came rushing back to the young man. Not only how that organization had recently used Spike and Drusilla to kill Rachael and even technically himself, but also how Oz had been wounded by that bitch Patrice - when she'd attempted to kill Buffy at the high school, all those years ago.

{ They're not Spike and Dru, granted, but they'll do for a start. } "I'll be there," Xander said simply, getting up and heading for his bedroom. "On account of I have a blood debt to repay, and those bastards are *not* gonna like my choice of currency..."

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Forty-six**

 **Buenos Aires, Argentina. July 3, 2001**

It was a day that would be long remembered, in the shadowy world of black ops and espionage.

The day that Operation Reciprocity was *finally* put into effect.

The creature known as Loken leaned back on the couch in his plush apartment, which took up the entire fourth floor of his building. Life was good for this demon.

In his not-so-humble opinion, being invited to join the Order of Taraka was the best thing to have ever happened to him. He enjoyed getting well paid to kill his targets; indeed, like all his fellow assassins, his bounty was all that he truly cared about. And if Loken's targets had to die, well...human or demon, that was of no real concern to the professional killer.

He reached over to the table next to the couch and picked up the remote control for the idiot box. He then flicked on the TV and was rewarded with the sight of a soccer match. {May as well relax, till the next assignment comes in.}

The ringing of the telephone instantly interrupted his getting too involved in the game. Biting down a curse, Loken answered the phone, "Hello!?" the demon demanded.

"Shalom," the accented voice said in response.

"What the hell-? Who is this?" Loken demanded. Because as far as he knew, only his immediate superior in the Order and a total of three other people knew this number, due to the cell network that the Tarakans operated within - just like every other long-lasting terrorist organization did.

But any further questions from the demon assassin were moot, as the entire apartment exploded.

Down below on the street, a man in a phone booth watched the fourth floor go up in flames, as the shattered glass plummeted to the street below and the onlookers started to scream.

He quickly hung up the phone. Walking down the street, the Israeli took out a cell phone and dialed a number.

"It's done."

 **New Delhi, India. Later that day**

The young assassin had to admit, this was a strange assignment. Not that he wasn't up to the challenge, of course. He was an excellent shot: it was just that his mark was someone who normally wouldn't exactly be a target of the organization.

Still, he was getting paid to kill, and that was all what fundamentally mattered.

He leaned into the rifle and peered down the scope as the door opened. A few seconds later, the professional killer squeezed the trigger on his sniper rifle. The recoil caused his shoulder to jerk back, but not before he saw his target crumple to the ground - dead.

He then quickly disassembled the weapon and fled his sniper's nest. The young killer knew that taking an assignment against a member of the Order of Taraka was a hazardous thing to do, but the contract and promise of more work to come had been too good to pass up.

And besides, you couldn't easily say 'no' to the people who had hired his organization.

 **Luxembourg City, Luxembourg. Half an hour later**

The mid-level banking official made his way through the suite of offices in a panicked hurry. No one liked to be the bearer of bad news, granted. However, being the one who delayed news of *this* magnitude would be definitely something much worse.

He arrived at the desk of a young attractive secretary. She just nodded at him, "He's expecting you. Go right in."

The middle management official took a deep breath, and calmed himself down. He then entered into the spacious office. Next to a window with an impressive view of the city, was the bank's president sitting behind an ornate desk.

"Why did you ask for this meeting?" the big cheese asked without preamble.

"Uh, sir, I was doing a review today of the accounts in the black section," the official started to stammer, wondering if he was going to be terminated for this, in every sense of the word.

The bank president instantly looked worried at that. "I hope you didn't find anything to reflect poorly on our institution? Our clients who use that particular service would look *very* unfavorably upon any problems!"

"Sir, I...it involves the Order of Taraka's accounts. I'm sorry, I..."

The bank president blanched at that news. "How bad is it?" Maybe he could explain it away as the bumblings of his subordinate, and save his own life at least.

"The damage to those accounts is total. They're, they're gone-"

"What do you mean? There were billions of dollars, pounds, yen, and euros in there, if I recall correctly. And you don't just lose accounts of that size!"

The official swallowed hard before explaining. "Sir, the accounts are still there, it's just that all the money is gone, transferred out somehow. The remaining account balance is, is zero. The Order's accounts are empty."

The President leaned back in terror, his face white. "You're sure? They didn't just transfer the money out to another bank?"

The official just mutely shook his head.

The President ran a hand through his hair. "The Order will kill all of us, and every single member of our families as well, for this...this...debacle!" He fell forward, reaching for the telephone. "I'm getting out of here. If you want to live, I suggest you do the same!"

 **Fort Meade, Maryland. The same time**

The young Air Force lieutenant leaned back from his computer console with a huge smile on his face. "And here I thought this was going to be hard," he joked.

Behind him, a Navy commander walked up and down the line of computer consoles, all occupied by military personnel. "Natchez, it's only easy for you. Those of us with lives, found it hard to dedicate 70 hours straight to cracking the damn codes!" the commander joked.

The lieutenant leaned forward, as some more numbers flashed across the screen. "Just as I thought, they're freaking out. Checking the accounts again, I guess they're hoping it's all a mistake!"

"No mistake," the Navy commander said, as he started to walk down the line.

"Hey, while I'm at it, want me to add some money to your retirement fund?" the Air Force officer asked jovially.

The commander chuckled. "Well, ordinarily I would, but there's really no place in the world to hide from the wrath of the higher-ups if we did that. This little operation has the attention of...those who should not be angered."

"Interesting nickname," the lieutenant commented, as he turned his attention to the next computer target.

"Yeah, and the poor souls on the receiving end of our visits today are learning the reasons behind that nickname."

 **Tokyo, Japan. Later that night**

The police inspector made his way up the narrow staircase. The police officers either already on it or coming the other way, scrunched up against the wall to allow the inspector to pass. The cop arrived at the top of the stairs and made his way through the crowded hallway until he reached an apartment door surrounded by uniformed police officers, which he entered.

"What have you learned?" the inspector named Miyamoto Koji asked the most senior police officer in the apartment, after having been shown proper respect. All around him, various officers examined and photographed the crime scene.

"There are five victims, Koji-san, at least - we believe so. A couple of them seemed to have been horribly deformed by whatever happened. It appears that the criminals entered the apartment through the front door and two of the windows. They rappelled down from the roof, and they were armed with military-level firearms. Two of the victims, clearly, were killed almost immediately by gunshots to the head. The others appeared to have resisted, although only one of them had a firearm. Oddly enough, swords or axes were their weapon of choice."

The inspector made his way further into the apartment as the officer continued his narrative. "The man with the handgun fired one shot, with no indication that he hit anything. The other two were quickly dispatched. The criminals appear to have remained long enough to ensure their targets were dead, and remove any shell casings."

Koji nodded at his subordinate's report. "Hai. Have you identified the victims yet?"

"Only two. One of the first to be shot is a New Zealand national by the name of Steve Clark. The one with the firearm who managed to get a shot off was named Matsube Namushia. The others we hope to identify soon, as they are...well, unique."

"Show me!" Inspector Koji commanded his junior.

"Hai, tono!" The officer nodded and led his senior to the small kitchenette. There slumped against the wall was a large blanket-covered body. "We believe that this was the last one to die, the battleaxe nearby was his." The officer nodded at an axe lying in the floor. He then reached down and pulled back the blanket.

The police inspector's eyes widened, as he had never seen anything like this before. "Was this done to him after death?"

The officer shook his head. "No, Ogawa-sensei said that other than the gunshots, nothing was done to him. How he looks...well, Koji-san, that is how he looked on a normal day."

"Ridiculous! There is nothing normal about how he appears," the inspector said roughly. "Still, an operation this violent must surely have attracted attention. I'm sure that questioning the neighbors will turn up something, after all the criminals did not just vanish into thin air-"

"Sir?" another officer approached, clearly flustered.

"What?" Inspector Koji said absent-mindedly.

"Mushie-mushie, Koji-san, there are several officials here to see you."

Now this was unusual. Perhaps the victims had had some sort of high-level connections? {Unlikely, but considering the appearance of the last murder victim, not impossible.} Quickly the inspector made his way to the entryway into the apartment. And there waiting for him was a trio of middle-aged men in business suits.

Koji made a perfunctory bow in the manner of the sons of the Land of the Rising Sun, and then said, "Konichiwa. I do not wish to be rude, but this is a crime scene and I am very busy. Therefore I must ask, what do you want here?"

The middle of the three men stepped forward and presented his credentials. "Public Security Investigation Agency, Inspector Koji. We have reason to believe that this event is terrorism-related."

The inspector frowned. "I have only been here a short while, but I have seen no evidence of anything other than ordinary homicide. My men have the investigation well in hand."

"Nevertheless, we are assuming jurisdiction due to the delicate nature of the events here," the middle one said. "You will need to have your men leave this place, at once. And then remove yourself as well."

The inspector was instantly angry. According to the strict code of protocol and tradition, the man's words were automatically almost an unforgivable insult. {He has spent far too much time amongst Westerners, no doubt. But that is not how we do things here in *my* city! } "According to my information, this is a crime scene and the metropolitan police has jurisdiction over it. And you must follow procedure, as we all know," Koji said in a pissed tone - one that only a fellow Japanese could detect, though.

"Hai, Koji-san. But there are circumstances here affecting the safety of the country, and that gives us jurisdiction. Believe me, this matter has already been addressed at the highest levels," the man on the far right said, apparently trying to play peacemaker.

Koji frowned. "What does that mean?" was his response.

But just as the inspector finished speaking, a uniformed police officer came hurrying up to him. "Sir, there's an urgent phone call for you."

Inspector Koji shook his head. "Not now-"

"Sir, it is the Minister of Justice," the junior cop said with an awed tone to his voice.

"What?" Koji whirled around in disbelief. But he saw no evidence of his subordinate trying to lie to him.

The inspector then looked at the three men in front of him, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Koji *knew* then that he was about to have his investigation completely short-circuited, and that this trio was the cause of that. {This is not right. This is not procedure. This is...this is a cover-up, as the Americans put it! }

He hated it, but he was a good soldier who obeyed orders; and so the inspector accepted the unacceptable from the Minister, and efficiently organized a hasty retreat of all his people from the murder scene of the Tarakan assassins.

 **Marseilles, France. The same time**

That night during the summer of 2001 the city was a swamp of near-depravity, as was expected for one of Europe's greatest ports of call. Because take a walk down the main section of La Canebière, idle around the waterfront, or wander the lurid side streets - and you'll find that no place does sordid quite like Marseilles.

It was a strange kind of town; rough and ready, and yet also cheap and accommodating, if you know where to go to get what you want. And as far as the tourists were concerned? The mangy cats all along the Boulevard Andre Aune, the overwhelming fish smell wafting from the direction of Quai des Belges, even the couscous and falafel from the African and Arab stalls around the Belsunce area - all of it was part of this city, which was historically infamous for crime and vice.

Which was only one of the reasons why the vampires known as Spike and Drusilla were present, of course. On account of not only was the ancient metropolis a good temporary bolthole, France *was* the traditional land of exile for the English. Plus, Spike knew that Dru couldn't stand Paris for some reason, and so this particular burg would have to do.

It had been a while since they had gotten safely out of Canada, and the undead duo had been thinking they had now *finally* shaken off their pursuers. Well, Spike had anyway, as they'd ventured out along Cours Jean Ballard tonight and entered Bar Canete, a dive that oddly enough had been full of Algerians...

"What's this all about then, luv?" William the Bloody asked in confusion, as an agitated Drusilla dragged him out of the bar. "I was fancyin' having meself a quick snack 'n all-"

"Death comes on bright and fast wings, it does. The stars aren't happy no more, Spoike, they whisper such 'orribly wicked things to Miss Edith! And oh, there'll be tea and cake! But red like overripe cherries, they are..."

Unfortunately, there was no chance for Spike to reply to her ravings; as Bar Canete suddenly exploded into a huge fireball not far behind them.

The flames reached skyward, as the blast wave lifted up and carried the two vamps down the boulevard and slammed them directly against a wall, showering them with the burning debris. If they'd been human, most likely Spike and Dru would have been killed instantly; but they were what they were, and so were only briefly stunned by the terrible act of violence.

"Bloody hell," Spike cursed, finally getting up and brushing away at himself to be sure of removing any flammable material before doing the same to Dru. He then said to his paramour, "Come on then, ducks, I'd say we'd best be moving on from this city; the natives look like they're gettin' a mite too restless for our taste."

But as William dragged his sire away, he had no way to know that he and Drusilla *hadn't* been the primary targets of that deadly attack. The fact was, their injuries and situation were just collateral damage; as the man responsible for the explosion barely gave them a moment's notice upon seeing them depart.

That swarthy individual just settled his gaze back onto the burning building, as the screams started to echo in the night and the howl of sirens from the arriving local police and ambulance began to be heard. The guy then moved back into the shadows, cursing the fact that he couldn't stay to enjoy the spectacle any longer. {Sales flics.}

The Capu of the Union, one of the most entrenched French crime syndicates around then shook his head. Such thoughts were beneath him, at least to his warped way of thinking. His target, a police informer, was dead; which was all that mattered to the Corsican.

And even though he didn't know it, the evil mass-murdering criminal had inadvertently helped out the good guys tonight - by also killing a member of the Order of Taraka, who'd been present at the wrong place at the wrong time...

 **Headquarters of Federal Security Service, Moscow, Russia. A while later**

Late that evening, the elderly man leaned back in his chair, smiling as he read the reports just handed to him by his secretary, who was a very attractive young woman. He silently gave thanks that in Mother Russia, certain things had not changed as they had in the West.

Because at his age, it did an old man the world of good to have such a pretty young thing in the office.

"We are receiving many more reports like these, sir. The local police in Volgograd have reported a murder which is probably also connected."

The old man, Colonel General Vladimir Nosenko, looked up at the secretary. "Da, I have no doubt of it. The Americans and their Jewish allies have been busy today, even within our own borders."

"But Comrade General, surely we cannot tolerate their actions when they are clearly violating our sovereignty this way?" the young woman asked, somewhat confused.

Nosenko smiled. "Nyet, Irina. But it would be most difficult for us to complain, when we actually helped set the whole thing up! Project Rasputin is paying great dividends for us, by all the discredited Czars. And our diplomats are gifted in their abilities only so far. Besides, they are justified in their actions."

"The diplomats?" the brunette secretary asked, wondering if she really wanted to know what was going on here.

Nosenko shook his head. "No, the Americans. I mean, trying to assassinate a child - what in the name of Lenin's mother was the Order thinking? That's something the Nazis made a habit out of. Despite our past association with them - these days the Order is obviously no better than Hitler's bootlickers."

The secretary remained silent, as she was well aware of her superior's opinions of the Nazis. All Russians of his age had strong feelings when it came to the former rulers of Germany over 60 years ago.

A knock on the door caused the secretary to break off her conversation for a few seconds. She then quickly returned to her boss carrying a package in her arms.

"What is that, Irina?"

"I do not know. But it was just delivered by courier from the U.S. embassy." She handed it over to the General. And he already knew it would have been checked for anything dangerous, not that the Americans were likely to try anything like that in this day and age.

After all, the Cold War was over and a new version of Satan was in the American public eye, nowadays.

Vladimir opened up the package and discovered a bottle sealed with red wax inside. He carefully pulled it out and placed it on his desk.

"Maker's Mark Bourbon," he commented, as he picked it up again and closely inspected the label. Then the old man smiled, "Ach, it's not vodka, but it's still a good gift. Did you know, Irina, that this is also a favorite of Castro's." Nosenko then looked down and saw a piece of paper on the bottom of the box. He pulled it out and read it aloud.

"Your help is greatly appreciated, tovarisch. I imagine by now, you know what we have been up to. Consider this just a minor token of our thanks. We owe you."

Nosenko chuckled as he put the paper down, "Da, da, I like them owing us a favor, it helps us to stay in the game. And considering what I hear from the Pripet Marshes, we may need their help before too long."

 **Chicago, Illinois. Later that evening**

"Coming through, coming through!" the elderly red-haired man said as he made his way through a crowd of reporters milling around outside a restaurant. This particular establishment had a reputation with certain elements in the colorful history of the Windy City, and when news came of something happening there, well, every media organization in Chicago knew to send someone.

Which had led to Carl Kolchak not wanting to disturb his daughter on her night off, and taking the call himself. Kolchak looked around, and suddenly noticed a lone police officer standing off to the side. He knew better than to try barging in through the front door, the others would have tried that and failed. So he made his way over to the officer, using the same technique that he'd found worked back in the Seventies.

"Carl Kolchak, Independent News Service. So what happened here, Officer...Perkins?" Kolchak asked as he quickly read the nametag.

"Hey, I don't know anything!" the officer replied quickly.

"Well, surely, you must know something. I mean, the brass couldn't make someone in your position remain completely in the dark like that, could they?" Kolchak tried buttering up his target.

It worked. Taking a quick look around, the cop asked, "Well, you know Vincente Punchinello?"

Kolchak nodded. "Yeah, the man who turned down joining the Mafia because he said it wasn't big enough for him?"

"That's the one. No one gave him of odds of getting away with it, but he lived," the police officer explained. "Well, tonight his number finally came up."

Kolchak was writing furiously, as well as switching on his tape recorder. "What happened? And don't worry about the anonymity thing; you'll just be an 'informed source'."

Perkins again looked around to make sure no one was watching. "Right, okay, and looks like someone poisoned him."

"You don't say?"

"Yeah, and you shoulda seen his face; man, from the look on his features, it *really* wasn't a pleasant way to go. His face fell down on his hand, see, and his ring made a huge gash in his forehead. Big honking ring too, you should see it. Bunch of FBI types were looking at it not long ago."

Kolchak checked to make sure his tape recorder was still running, as something somewhere in the back of his mind was starting to ring a very faint bell.

 **Somewhere in the Black Forest, Germany. July 4, 2001**

"This is unacceptable!" the elderly man said in an angry tone. As the clock passed midnight and he learned the latest regarding the hundreds of murders of his assassins throughout the world. "We are the Order of Taraka. We are the hunters, not the hunted!"

The assistant's eyes looked at the floor. "I have no explanation for what has happened, sir. But the reports are very clear, for the first time ever - we are under direct attack."

The leader of the Order glared at the assistant, as if he was to blame for all that was going on. "For 3,000 years we have been sowing discord and killing the unwary. Three thousand years! And now, now...*this*? How, how do they know where to attack? We are a secret society, we are secretiveness personified, yet whoever is behind this seems to know *exactly* where to strike! Are you telling me we have no idea who is behind this?"

The assistant shook his head. "No, some of the attacks are clearly the work of mercenaries. However, other attacks are clearly the work of professionals, and those are the ones we have the least information about. No survivors are available to give us any information. Still, the amount of co-ordination is incredible. There was no warning, only a blitzkrieg attack against us all..."

"What assets of the organization are left?" the leader asked.

"In terms of equipment, we are relatively unscathed. But our personnel numbers have been decimated, and we're having trouble contacting our remaining members. We can't find any operative at all still in place within North or South America."

The leader thought for a second, wondering what was the best course given this news. As neither he nor any of his predecessors had ever faced a situation such as this before. Obviously the top assassin was rattled, and in such a state - any decent psychologist could tell you that he was bound to make mistakes.

"We need to marshal our strength, contact whoever you can. Order them to assemble here so we can prepare to strike back!"

"Sir, strike where?" the assistant had a puzzled look on his face.

The leader's temper was getting more and more frayed. "Fool, that's what the seers are for! We have enough of them, they can tell us who is attacking us and how to hit back at them. The seers will be protected here with all our forces surrounding them. Nothing less than an army could touch us here!"

Little did the head of the Order realize that shortly, he would remember those exact words with great bitterness and fury for the rest of his short and miserable life.

 **Fort Meade, Maryland. Thirty minutes later**

The Air Force Major read through the summaries of the various intercepts from the last half-hour. He smiled, it still amazed him how the Siberians seemed able to guess precisely what their opponents were going to do next.

He reached over and picked up the phone. The man then quickly dialed the number that he had been calling more or less continuously for the last couple of days. He waited for an answer, and then spoke quickly, "This is Puzzle Palace. Yeah, you guys called it right. They're calling in everyone to play Fort Apache in the Black Forest."

He listened for a few seconds, "I'd say by the end of the day. All the major assets they can reach, or have left really, are in Europe. Elsewhere, it's only bits and pieces."

A few moments later, the Major nodded. "You're welcome. Good hunting."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California. The same time**

"Let me tell you something, when it's dark and I'm all alone and I'm scared or freaked out or whatever, I always think, 'What would Buffy do?'"

Buffy bolted upright in the bed looking freaked, as she rubbed her eyes. "Xander-? Where the heck did that come from?" she muttered, as the young man's statement rang in her head. "He never said that to me."

Buffy lay down again back in the bed, and thought about her dream. She'd been at the Bronze, and somehow she had known it had been right after that vampire Sunday had bested her and stolen her stuff from her old college dorm room.

However, that had been *months* after Xander had been killed by that explosion during Graduation. He hadn't been around when Buffy had started college. Also, he definitely would not have spoken like that to her.

After the whole you-missed-that-vampire-who-ripped-my neck-open incident, Xander Harris had not been in the least bit complimentary towards his former hero. He hadn't cared anymore about what Buffy would do when he was scared. The whole thing just didn't make any sense. So it had to be just make-believe, in the blonde woman's hesitant opinion.

"And yet it seemed, like, so real - almost like a...Slayer dream?" Buffy muttered to herself. She shifted in bed and leaned over to grab the phone on her nightstand. A quick dial and short pause got the party she wanted to talk to.

"Giles, it's Buffy here. I just had the weirdest dream! Nope, wasn't an end of the world thing, but it was kinda strange and it didn't make any sense to me. It was like dreaming about the past, only it happened differently to what took place in real life."

Buffy listened for a few moments before saying, "Yeah. I know, I told you it doesn't make any sense! Look, I'll come by the Magic Box first thing in the morning and you can do the whole Watcher...okay, ex-Watcher thing to decipher it. I'll tell you everything. Yes, if there is another dream or a Slayer vision I'll call you immediately! Yeesh, could you get your mind out of the Hellmouth for a second? Go back to sleep, Giles!"

The Chosen One then hung up the phone. Silently thankful that Rupert had answered his cell at his own apartment, and not within her mother's bedroom.

 **Munich International Airport, Munich, Germany. Later that morning**

"Sir, your car is waiting," the airport official said to the well-dressed man who kept to the shadows in the airport lobby.

"Ja, ja, danke schön. Have it pull up to the front," the man said hurriedly as he turned the collars of his coat up. He moved to the lobby door as the car, with its black tinted windows, did precisely as ordered.

After a few moments, when the car was positioned just a few meters from the building and the car door held open by the driver, the man quickly exited and almost sprinted to the vehicle.

A very observant person would have noticed that smoke seemed to come from the 'man' as he ran to the automobile, and before he managed to get in and close the door.

And as the car drove off, such a person picked up the cell phone he had been holding. "It's leaving now."

 **Rhine Main Air Base, Frankfurt, Germany. A few minutes later**

If there was one thing that Xander Harris liked about this particular European nation, it was the autobahns they had here.

After arriving at Ramstein AFB on a military flight from the U.S., that air base itself bringing back a few bittersweet memories of the previous year, the traveling party had quickly departed Wiesbaden and headed for their new destination. And Harris had been allowed to drive himself, Oz and Graham Miller to Frankfurt, albeit under Mother Hen's watchful eye of course.

Now, the autobahn network is the world's second largest superhighway system after the U.S. Interstate system. And according to Germany's tourist bureau, it is the pinnacle of the German driving experience, perhaps the ultimate in driving altogether. That virtually all of the world's serious drivers have heard of it, and have longed to take their shot at conquering it.

Well, Harris hadn't minded taking his shot at all.

No stop signs, no speed limits (apart from the government's 'suggestions') and a bunch of civilians in Porsches and BMWs who were more dangerous to themselves and each other than Buffy on her worst driving day *ever* - it was like being on the road to Hell, or the one leading back from there.

You just had to love it.

Right now though Xander sat in the air base's lounge, reading. It helped to take his mind off what was coming, given that Fred wasn't here to help distract him. Oddly enough, the brunette physicist was with the one and only Dr. Irving Hollins right now - and those two geniuses were comparing notes on the proposed Initiative blasters that Xander had recently mentioned had been around in the original history, but had yet to be constructed here.

But still, thoughts of the Order of Taraka kept invading the former slave's mind. And *that* had led to the old memory banks recalling the events of late 1997.

As Willow had once speculated, that had been the era when the original Scooby gang had been fully united as one and as happy as they could be. Angelus had yet to show up, Jenny Calendar was still alive, and apart from Spike the only Big Bad the group had ever encountered was the Master; who had ended up a pile of shattered bone fragments under Buffy's sledgehammer, a couple of months before.

But then,William the Bloody had summoned the Order as a 'distraction' while he tried to heal Drusilla from the unspeakable things that Prague mob had done to her, with the du Lac cross Dalton had obtained. Which had led to Xander encountering Norman the Bug Man, and entering into a so-called relationship with Cordelia Chase.

Most days the former Scooby preferred not to think about her or those other two women, except in the line of duty, because even though he didn't hate them anymore - as far as he was concerned, Alexander Lavelle Harris was dead to them in more ways than one. But now, he just couldn't help it and thoughts of his brunette ex, the former redhead best friend and the blonde Slayer came to the fore of Xander's thoughts.

Especially that drug-induced conversation with the dream Cordelia, whilst he'd been held prisoner in Pylea.

Ever since Gwen had inherited the visions and left to join Angel Investigations, Xander had constantly been wondering about that situation. {Was everything she said true? And if so, just how far back did the manipulation start? }

Putting down his book, Xander frowned in deep thought. {Okay, if my subconscious was right about something big and bad wanting Cordy in LA after high school, and if we'd still been together after Graduation she might not have gone, what does that actually mean in terms of an overall enemy strategy? }

Harris compared both timelines in his head. {In this world, Queen C broke up with me about six months earlier than she otherwise would have. But what difference does that really make? Okay, so there was no clothes fluke, and no rebar incident, oh hang on. Cordelia never became the object of ridicule in this world like she did in the original history, so Ahn never showed up when she was supposed to. And yet, Anya showed up eventually anyway? Just like Spike did, that day I got sent to Hell...arrgh, crap, I don't get it.}

Indeed, it was pointless for Xander to try to figure out Jasmine's plans at this point in time, as he simply didn't have enough data.

As to the First and Xander's worries over potential events in Sunnydale, he felt somewhat better as he knew the First had its plans delayed. As long as Buffy didn't get killed and brought back to life, the Slayer line should be safe. Still, Xander knew the enemy just wasn't going to give up and no doubt was trying a different approach for the victory of the dark forces. The problem, here as with Jasmine, was Xander did not have enough data to make anything more than a guess.

So eventually the young man gave up and went back to his reading.

The Wizard had kept the homework coming this whole time, after all. And all around the lounge various other soldiers were killing time, more than a few of them going over maps and photographs of their target.

"What's so engrossing?"

Xander looked up at the sound of Red's voice. {So, you've come to join this party? Wow. Cleburne must have had to pry you away from Ametila with a crowbar! }

The Navy SEAL was standing in front of him looking down, as he examined the book Xander was reading. "Decline and fall of the Roman Empire? Doesn't seem like your style of light reading, pal."

Xander shook his head. "Yeah, but the Wizard's got me researching ancient civilizations and what causes them to prosper and fall. Wants a paper on it, and I think the regular term paper this time ain't gonna meet his expectations. He wants something more."

Red chuckled at that. "He always does. He's actually worse than the professors I had at the Academy!" Red sat down next to Xander. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Xander shook his head. "Nothing, Red. I'm just killing time until we get a go-code on the mission."

Red looked at his younger companion. "Xander? There's killing time, and there's killing time. I'm not going to insult you by asking how you're doing."

"Good. Then don't," Xander said shortly.

Red continued on, "But, I am going to comment that you want to be careful. Getting too much into the fight can cause you to lose sight of the terrorist with the RPG hanging out the window down the street."

"I've earned the right to be here. Even Cleburne says so," Xander said without looking up.

"Yeah, but remember - this is not the end point of the mission. This Spike character," Red's voice carried the disgust he felt for the British vampire clearly. "He's the real prize. And you want to be there when we finally run that walking corpse into the ground, not somewhere else recovering from another gunshot wound."

Xander stopped reading. "Okay, that I get. Don't get killed until the last battle."

Red smiled. "Well, the ideal thing would be not to get killed at all, but you've got the basic idea I'm sure." He stood up. "When the call comes, stick close to either me or Gunny. We'll get to where you need to be. Also, we're going to try and grab the Order's files."

"I'm assuming there's a reason for that, apart from the increased intel factor?" Xander asked simply.

"Yeah. I mean, he worked for them, so odds are they've had to keep track of Spike somehow, right?" Red replied, to which Xander just smiled.

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. Later that day**

"Buffy, dreams are not supposed to make sense."

The Summers woman shook her head at Giles' statement. "I know that. However, this dream wasn't a normal one. I can tell the difference, y'know, believe me. What?" Buffy said in response to the stare she was getting from Dawn.

"However, you said 'however'. That's so, um, Watcher-y," Dawn said with a smirk.

Buffy got an exasperated look. "Okay, *but* this dream wasn't a normal one. Happy now?"

Dawn nodded, a big grin on her face after finally having accepted her true status in life - after all those upheavals two months ago. "Oh, yeah, now that's my big sister talking!"

Giles sighed at the female antics, resisting the urge to polish his glasses. "If I may, Buffy, the dreaming mind works in, uh, mysterious ways. That's why I'm not surprised you inserted Xander into one of your dreams. After all, he-he meant quite a lot to you."

"But that's just it - Giles, I've had dreams with Xander in them before. Normal dreams, I mean - like the day we first met. The day I rejected his invitation to Spring Fling. The day he helped me escape from those swim team fish monsters! But this one was different, it was like a Slayer dream - kinda like the one six months ago, when we were making my bed together and then there was a big party with dead people in my house! Those other dreams, they were high school type dreams. I've never before dreamed of Xander in college."

"You've dreamed about Xander a lot, huh?" Dawn asked knowingly, to which Buffy started blushing.

"Of course she has, so have I! I betcha that all of us who knew him one way or another have dreamed about him. He was a large part of our lives," Willow declared from the table she was sharing with Tara.

"That's absolutely right. I dream of Xander's tongue fairly often," Anya volunteered from behind the cash register. That comment caused everyone else in the store to look over at the former demon. "What? I'm a healthy young human female, with a normal sex drive that-"

"Anyway!" Buffy semi-shouted, heading off whatever Anya was about to say with a nervous glance at Dawn. "Something about this dream has gotten my Slayer radar going all red alert, Watcher mine. I mean, why would I dream up him saying such nice things about me? The first part of senior year at Sunnydale High, Xander could barely even stand to be on the same campus as I was!"

Giles put down the clipboard he had been using to take inventory with. "If it makes you feel better, I'll do some research, call some people I know on the Council who might still talk to me."

Buffy smiled at that. "Great, you do that and maybe I can go back to normal dreams."

"About Xander in high school?" Dawn piped up helpfully.

"Dawn!" Buffy and Giles said in unison.

 **Headquarters of the Order of Taraka, Black Forest, Germany. Later that evening**

"Damn it, I don't want excuses!" the leader of the Order shouted as the seer slinked away from his desk, nursing a bleeding nose. "You're supposed to be the best seers in the Order, so damn well act like it! What the hell can you tell me?" he snapped at his lieutenant as the psychic fled out the door.

"All of the seers report they are having problems obtaining information, more so than normal. Sir, granted that even at the best of times the seers are not the most exact bunch of individuals, but now they are being even more obscure than usual. It is clear that someone or something is blocking them."

"What? Or who?" was the angry question in response.

"Unknown. However, it could only be other seers or mages of incredible power. And that narrows the list of candidates down considerably," the lieutenant replied.

The leader frowned and leaned back. "Wolfram & Hart?"

His underling nodded his head once with a frown. "They could do it, but that begs the question; why? We've always had a good relationship with them, and the same is true for most of the demon armies out there."

"What about the Nutrcats clan?"

The Order's number two hesitated for a moment. "They *do* have reason to dislike us after we assassinated their chief warlord last year, sir. However, as far as I know they do not have the resources for something like this. At best, they have 3,000 ordinary soldiers. That's not enough for a world-wide assault of the type we've seen, and - they have no seers to speak of. The Watchers Council could muster together the power to block our seers, but not enough resources for the mundane assault on us."

The underling paused for a second. "If I may be so bold, sir?"

"Your predecessor was bold, once!" the leader snarled back.

There was an almost-hidden gulp. "Yes sir, but given all that we know - I think we may want to concentrate our attention on a less...*exotic* explanation. There are others whom we have had dealings with, besides those connected to the demon world. If that's the case, an obvious candidate for all this comes to mind."

The elderly gentleman stood up, instantly seeing where his minion was going with this. "The Americans? I remember them from the war. This seems somewhat excessive for them. After all, they defeated the Nazis, then turned around and gave the Germans the means to rebuild their country!"

"No doubt to assuage the guilt over the violence they undertook. Perhaps Spike wasn't as careful as we thought in covering his connection to us, with regard to that contract two months ago," was the response from the subordinate.

"Hmmm, if you're right? Remind me later to torture that vampire, in order to properly explain his failings to him," the leader said in a menacing tone.

"Yes sir," was the response. However before he could say more, the beeper on his belt signalled the need for attention to be paid to it. The lieutenant looked down and read the text message. "Uh, sir, there's been a development. The seers are now reporting something definite."

"About damn time! Well, what is it?" the head of the Order growled.

"It's not good news..."

 **Outside the castle. Ten minutes later**

The sunlight from the afternoon sun danced along the walls of the castle HQ of the Order of Taraka, shadows playing all along its side. The shadows seemed...menacing.

This was even more so clear when one looked out from the castle towards the source of the shadows. A flight of Apache helicopters approached the castle in an attack formation. Well away from the castle, they stopped and hovered above the ground, before a salvo of rockets shot out from their missile emplacements.

Like fiery angels of death, the rockets flew unerringly with hazy smoke trails behind them until they impacted on the upper parts of the castle walls. Said walls were then instantly blasted apart like they were made of tissue paper.

The helicopters then flew out of the way of another flight of Apache choppers, who attacked as well; and the next round of missiles hit the interior of the castle. The parapets, the courtyard, even the main building all went up in a gout of flame and destruction, as the first wave of aircraft headed for the terrorist HQ to take out any lesser targets. As the helicopters moved out of the way, artillery started impacting on the burning castle.

Nearby, Joshua and Red watched the scene through binoculars. "Payback is a bitch," Cleburne commented with a great deal of obvious pleasure.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," Red said, noting all the damage done to the enemy. "And this is only the first punch, after all."

"Hey, overkill is generally a good thing in this line of work!" the senior Siberian riposted.

A few feet away, Oz and Xander stared at the burning castle as well, the thousand-year-old building nothing but wreckage now - a gutted monument to the evil it had once housed. "We're not gonna have any trouble with the local cops, are we?" the werewolf suddenly asked.

"Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, buddy. And if anyone *does* ask awkward questions, well, what the hell - we're Americans, and what's the Fourth of July without some fireworks?" Xander commented.

All three men turned to stare at him. "What?" Xander defended himself. "At least I'm not blaming it all on gangs high on PCP."

Cleburne shook his head. "You two must have had a *really* weird childhood in that hellpit of a town."

 **Under the burning castle. The same time**

"I am going to *skewer* that damned vampire, preferably right through his privates!" the leader of the Order of Taraka hissed, as the ground shook above his head from another artillery strike on the castle. He, his chief lieutenant and several bodyguards made their way through the escape tunnel underneath the old castle that had until a few minutes ago, been their secure fortress headquarters.

The screaming of one seer about fire from the sky had been enough warning for some preparation to be made for an assault. However, never in their experience had the Order dealt with an air strike or artillery barrage with themselves as targets, therefore the brief preparations they had made had been woefully inadequate.

After all, when a mage heard about fire from the sky, he thought of a fireball spell and how to counter it. Not an Apache gunship helicopter attacking him.

"It does appear that it is in fact the Americans who are the architects of our troubles. With this knowledge we should now be able to prepare a proper counterstrike," the lieutenant said as he tried to avoid stumbling.

"You pathetic fool, with what? Most of our remaining operatives lie above us, either dead or dying. Our resources are gone and our communication network is destroyed. Our security has clearly been compromised, otherwise how would they know where to attack? How can we strike back if they already know our every move!?" the leader turned and shouted at his flunky.

Then he stopped dead. "As a matter of fact - that is a question I think I can now answer. After all, who *was* the Judas among us? It had to be someone high up in the organization. And who better to tip off our enemies than the one who is always at my side? Listening to and seeing everything." He advanced, his anger and despair overcoming common sense and reasoning. "It's perfect, almost. You leak the secrets, eliminate me, and then you and your Yankee allies take over the Order. However, I see you. I see you..."

The lieutenant's eyes were wide now in fear, he knew what had happened to his predecessor - and that was when the leader had been fully rational and calm. "No, no, sir, you know me, I would never betray the Order-" he stammered out.

"I should have known something was up. Your recommendations were too good, too complimentary. You were the worm in the apple..." The elderly gentleman raised his hands and shouted a Latin phrase. A line of white lights shot out from his hands and surrounded the flunky.

The lieutenant looked around in horror as the light contracted around him. He started to scream in agony as the lights moved quickly. Nearby, the bodyguards looked on in (perfectly hidden) terror. The flunky fell to his knees, and then slumped over onto the floor with a thud, his eyes wide open and his face frozen in pain.

"Traitor," was the hissed benediction from the Tarakan leader. Death being the only reward for nearly a lifetime's faithful service, from his second-in-command.

Suddenly from the direction they'd come from, there was heard screams and gunfire. "Come!" the leader said hurriedly, as he started down the tunnel away from the sounds. The bodyguards hurried after him, to a man.

The senior bodyguard caught up to his superior. "Sir, how do we know he didn't also betray the existence of this escape tunnel?"

"Because he didn't know about it. This tunnel was previously known only to me and my predecessors," was the answer. Of course, this was true enough and would have been grounds for optimism if the suspicions of the old man regarding his former lieutenant had been right. Sadly for him, they were not.

The old man opened the hatch leading to the outside. "We can get to the road from here. And once we're clear, we head for the emergency safehouse in Frankfurt," he said. However anything else the old assassin might have added was lost as suddenly he and his party were lit up by a searchlight.

"Handehoch! SCHNELL!" was shouted out in a strangely guttural tone, as the owner of the voice commanded the Tarakans in German to get their hands up PDQ.

"Hell first! Der Aufbau oder tod!" was the shouted reply. The old man raised his hands. However, before he got them all the way up, gunfire rang out. He staggered a bit as bullets could be seen bouncing off his person. The gunfire quickly worked its way up the body until it reached his shoulders, and those bullets did not bounce off.

The bodyguards returned fire, however they were clearly outgunned and caught out in the open. Within a couple of minutes, they were overwhelmed and their souls started roasting down where they belonged.

After a silent minute or so, several soldiers emerged from the darkness and approached the bodies cautiously. Leading them was Cyrus, wearing his trademark floppy bush hat. He headed straight to the old man. He then bent down and examined the leader of the Order, as the target of his examination wheezed his last breaths.

"Naand, meneer," Cyrus said calmly in his native tongue.

The eyes opened wide, defying medical science as the dying man recognized the Siberian in front of him. "You?" he hissed, clearly in agony.

"Kevlar. I was wondering why the bullets bounced off. I initially thought it was magic," the South African said neutrally. He may as well have been commenting about the weather.

"You could have been one of us-" the Tarakan said with his last breath.

"And had I accepted your offer back then, I would be dead right now or about to die. No, thank you, but I've had enough of lost causes for one lifetime."

 **Back at the castle. The same time**

The gargoyle jumped down from its perch on the rubble and slashed at Xander. He only just managed to jump back to avoid its claws. Next to him, Oz took the opportunity to calmly swing a battleaxe into the chest of the gargoyle.

The creature looked down at the embedded axe. He then looked up at Oz, and reached down to effortlessly pull the axe out. "Not good," the werewolf said as an understatement.

"On it," Xander said, as he fired in full auto mode with his M4A1 carbine. The gargoyle just glared at Xander for a few seconds before swinging the axe at Oz, who had by then moved out of the way. "Or maybe not," Xander commented as he moved back also.

Xander and Oz started running away from the gargoyle, who as the mystical guardian of the castle and its inhabitants was clearly not giving up his pursuit of them anytime soon. It flapped its wings and took to the sky. It overflew its quarry and sat down in front of them.

"Hey, come on Goliath, that's not exactly fair! We can't fly!" Xander shouted as he fired some more rounds from his weapon, the bullets again only chipping away at the target, not exactly hurting it or anything. The two humans quickly proceeded back in the direction they had just come from, Xander fumbling with the equipment harness he was wearing.

"Here it is!" Harris finally declared in triumph, as the gargoyle again attacked them; this time, no longer playing games. "Here, catch!" the one-time PFC yelled as he tossed the object he had just retrieved to the monster chasing them.

"Run!" the former Slayerette then shouted at Oz.

The gargoyle, admittedly not the smartest creature around, looked down at the small round thing in his hand with mild curiosity. A hand grenade with the pin pulled. The resulting explosion knocked the castle guardian down to the ground, with the arm holding the grenade going in the other direction.

The gargoyle lay on the ground, dazed and unable to comprehend what had just happened, as its knowledge base was still stuck in the Middle Ages. Given that that was the last time it had unfrozen before today, from its sleeping stone form. Xander took advantage of the opportunity and tossed two more hand grenades right onto his attacker. Two loud explosions a few seconds later, and little more than dust and powder filled the area as the gargoyle was literally blown to bits.

"I *love* blowing things up," Xander wisecracked, briefly thinking about the high school graduation ceremony of both timelines.

"You seem to have a talent for it," Oz commented.

"You have no idea!" Xander joked in response. "Come on." The two former residents of Sunnydale started running further into the ruins. "The vaults are probably this way. I just hope they survived the pounding."

Xander looked up and saw another gargoyle fly over their heads, however this one spared them no thought at all. A few seconds later, an Apache helicopter flashed by in pursuit. Xander just smiled to himself, as he and Oz made their way through the remains of the castle.

All around they heard sounds of battle, both mundane and magical. The Order of Taraka might have been going down, but they were not going down without a fight. The two former Scoobies made their way to a cluster of Siberians led by Red who were firing at a pile of rubble about thirty yards away.

"Damn it, the sun hasn't gone down yet! Just blow up enough of the rubble and the sunlight will take care of the rest!" the man said as he pulled a grenade from his harness. "Vampires," Byrne explained to Xander and Oz as an aside.

"Fire in the hole!" the Navy officer shouted as he tossed the grenade onto the rubble. A few seconds later, the massive explosion blew rubble into the air and the screams of the damned were heard as they burned from the deadly daylight.

"Come on!" Red shouted as they advanced on their target. "I don't want to live forever, and neither do you."

{Got that right} Xander shrugged and followed in the attack.

 **Fifteen minutes later**

Gunny rapped on the vault door in front of him with his knuckles. "Hello, Avon calling."

"Gunny, don't mock the bad guys after they're dead," Cleburne said from nearby as he examined a control panel.

"You do it," Gunny responded as he moved away from the door.

"Well, I do it with more style. That was just...tacky," Joshua responded as he pushed one of the buttons. The two Marines looked at the door, hoping it would open. But instantly they were disappointed when the door didn't move.

"Oh well, guess we'll just have to try something else," Cleburne muttered.

The two of them, along with several other Siberians were in an underground chamber. The chamber had been the site of the last stand of the castle defenders. There were still a few isolated members of the Order running around, but nothing organized any longer and it was only a matter of time before the mopping up was complete.

At the entrance of chamber, Red, Oz and Xander entered. "What's the sitch?" Xander asked.

"This is what really made the castle so valuable for us," Cleburne explained with a gesture. "The records vault of the Order of Taraka. Lots of goodies for us in there."

"Including how to catch up with Spike," Xander said as he strode purposefully to the control panel. "Open it up."

"That's what I'm trying to do, kid. But the bad guys managed to lock it before we liberated the room. Now I'm just randomly pushing buttons to see if it opens," was the response from the Marine colonel.

"Ah, might not be a good idea. Booby traps and everything," Oz commented in his laidback way.

"He makes a valid point," Gunny commented.

Cleburne made a face, but he didn't press any more buttons. "Alright, so how *do* we get in?" he asked.

"Open Sesame," Red said suddenly. "Well, it would have been cool if it worked," he said in response to the looks he got.

"Yeah, maybe. Get the experts over here, both normal and the spooks," Cleburne said as he keyed his radio.

Shortly afterwards, a small group clustered at the end of the chamber, discussing amongst themselves how to open the door. "Explosives?" said one of the officers.

"No, we're liable to blow up what we want," Cleburne immediately vetoed that idea. "How about using a jackhammer on the wall next to the door?"

That received a shake of the head from another officer. "No, we tried a drill to get a core sample for analysis, but there's something magical stopping the drilling process. Probably would do the same for a jackhammer."

"So we have both the normal and paranormal to deal with. Anyone else here missing the good old days, dealing with the terrorists?" Red asked. There were several nods of heads in response.

Suddenly a noise pinged from the control panel, as all heads turned to see one of the experts grinning. "I got it! Jury-rigged a bypass on the lock, after I figured out the combination to the vault! Now we can..." Then he frowned. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh? I don't like it when I hear the word 'uh-oh'!" Cleburne declared. "What have you done?"

"Like I said, got around the lock the bad guys put on the mechanism opening the vault," the officer reported. "But the computer's requesting a verbal password for final verification, something to prove that you're a legitimate user of the system before it unlocks the door. Problem is, this function is hard-wired into the machinery and not something we can bypass. And I don't know what'll happen if we guess wrong, but odds are it'll be nothing good..."

Instantly, there was a barrage of questions and semi-recriminations, till Xander yelled "QUIET!" They all shut up, looking at the so-called Timetripper, who slowly walked up to the vault and said loudly and clearly to a grille about halfway up the door, "Our credo is to sow discord, and kill the unwary."

Instantly, the outer door swung open, and the Siberians noticed a series of inner doors swing open as well; they then glimpsed a huge cavern full of paper files, which was the Order's standard operating procedure to reduce the risk of electronic snooping into their affairs. It was like the treasure trove within Aladdin's cave, if you were looking for the modern-day corporate version of gold and jewels.

"How did you know?" Cleburne asked Xander suspiciously, as all this felt just a little too convenient for comfort.

But Harris just smiled, a sublime and turtle-ish smile as he remembered a long-ago briefing on the Order by Rupert Giles. "Lucky guess, plus I used to be a good bowler. And not only did these guys fail to beat the Elks in the Sunnydale adult bowling league championships during 1996, bowling is one vicious game!"

All the others, including Oz, just stared at their time-displaced colleague in confusion upon hearing that. Before they shook away the cobwebs and then progressed deep into the heart of the vault, to start plundering the secret treasures of the Order of Taraka.

"We're going to talk later," Cleburne said as he cautiously advanced into the vault. "In the meantime, I'm sure there's a lot we can learn here."

"Spike," Xander murmured simply under his breath.

 **The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia. July 5, 2001**

"So, are they done with that little cowboy vendetta?"

Esther Marcum raised an eyebrow at Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld's mixing of metaphors, however she still answered the question. "For the time being, I'd say so. There are still two entities out there Cleburne and Howard very much want to exact justice from, but for now the main threat has been removed."

Rumsfeld grunted. "Good. As much as those bastards needed to pay for what happened that night, we have bigger fish to worry about. Have you seen the watch list?"

Esther nodded. "Yes, several names have popped up recently that have caused concern-"

"Atta has left the country. Most probably setting up the final plans for the attack. We could snatch him when he comes back here, you know," Rumsfeld commented. "Matter of fact, Ashcroft has been bugging me about wanting to do that. Letting the FBI flex their muscles and all."

"Sir, we've discussed this before. Not to put too fine a point on it, but that is a Very Bad Idea. We would lose control very quickly in such a situation, and not know for sure how al-Qaeda would react."

Rumsfeld frowned. "And yet, it would be an equally big risk to just let them roam around when we know what's coming, wouldn't it?"

The Marcum woman tried not to sigh. {It's always like this with men like him, the desire to Do Something.} "The Wizard has been quite clear on this, Mr. Secretary. If we move too soon, we foul up the consecutive chain of events described to us by Mr. Howard, and then we really *are* operating in the dark. We're liable to be very surprised, when September 11 finally rolls around. And this time around, we won't be able to claim that the whole thing caught us completely unaware! We retain our inside knowledge advantage this way," Esther explained.

"Well, you better hope so. Look, I want to talk to the principals on this as soon as they all get back from wherever they are on their revenge trip. On account of the whole Committee needs to make this decision, not them."

Esther gave up and sighed. Well, okay, Rumsfeld *was* right in that this kind of decision needed to be made at the highest levels. "I'll make the arrangements to get everyone assembled as soon as possible."

 **Somewhere in Afghanistan. July 7, 2001**

"The Order is dead and gone, you say?" the tall, bearded man asked.

"Yes, the destruction was complete. The Americans and the Zionists attacked them wherever they could be found, and wiped the Order of Taraka off the face of the earth," the younger man responded. "Clearly, revenge was the motive."

"So they're blinded. Good," was the response of the first man who'd spoken.

"Perhaps we can take further advantage of this," was the comment from a heavyset bearded man.

"I would recommend caution, however," the younger man insisted. "The Great Satan is currently angry, and thirsting for blood. And the strike on the four pagan symbols of the infidels is too close now to risk anything going wrong, at this late stage."

"Have faith in the Koran, specifically book four," the first man replied. "Still, you may be right. And just in case, I say we should prepare for a mighty blow against four other symbols of the Great Satan, if our initial attack in Allah's name is somehow thwarted."

 **Los Angeles, California. July 9, 2001**

Cordelia Chase was feeling *psyched*.

Because things were finally going her way, it seemed. Both professionally and personally. At long last, after the past six weeks or so.

There had been that night where Chuck had found her high school yearbook and souvenirs. Her former boyfriend Xander figured prominently in her collection. Chuck had caught her looking at one of the pictures wistfully. Cordelia had to explain to Chuck about Xander was, well an edited version of the truth. Chuck had wondered if Cordelia's feelings for Xander had been more than a high school infatuation. He had actually asked why she had kept those items. Cordelia had explained as best as she about the nature of the relationship and how it ended.

But this wasn't high school anymore. And she was involved in a serious adult relationship with a decent guy - one that Ms. Chase was pretty lucky to have, actually. And finally, *finally*, with the help of every ounce of charm and beauty that the good Lord had blessed her with, Cordelia had been able to make her boyfriend understand.

And as for the day job, well, no major surprises there - Wolfram & Hart were still proving to be a major headache for Angel Investigations.

That Asian guy, Gavin Park, was proving to be even more of a devious weasel than Lindsey MacDonald had ever been. The Chase woman was *sure* that she was constantly being followed thanks to Gavin's orders, even if she couldn't prove it. And even Gwen had complained that the pickings had grown mighty slim lately, in terms of finding a decent place to rob! The only consolation was that Lilah Morgan was obviously having as miserable a time of it as Angel's Avengers

But as for her budding career in the movie and entertainment industry...well, things were definitely looking up.

Unlike what would have happened in the history Xander remembered, Cordelia's star had been rising lately thanks to that lotion commercial that had been a big success after it had been professionally redone. And now, it had led the young woman to a top-three audition for a guest-starring role on 'ALIAS'.

And about damn time too, in Cordelia's opinion. After all, it was (shudder) only another six months till her 21st birthday!

If she didn't make it in this business within another three to four years, Cordy knew that she may as well just quit the whole acting gig, and resign herself to being Angel's assistant/secretary for the rest of her days.

But right at this moment, as said, Cordelia was psyched. She was in the zone. And she was about to score, big-time. { I'm doing it! I really am! Oh, God - Hollywood, here I come! } And as she said her lines, Cordy *knew* she had the part nailed-

When Fate kicked her right where it hurt the most.

A vision blasted through Cordelia's brain for the first time in nearly two months, a river of agony cascading through her consciousness. Making her blind and deaf to everyone and everything around her, as the young woman screamed in pain and the images played out in her visual cortex.

Very soon, a day or so. Hancock Park. Nester demons. The starving creatures attacking a couple of joggers, willing to risk detection by the human world in order to overcome the debilitating hunger.

Cordelia hadn't noticed falling to the ground, but as the hurt faded and she was able to open her eyes once more, she saw the scared eyes of her male audition partner looking down at her. "Uh, did I receive the wrong script? 'Cause that wasn't part of the scene, was it? I'm pretty sure, anyway. So, um, are you okay?"

Cordelia groaned, as the actor helped her up. Then she winced in realization, { Oh no! The audition! NO! }

Indeed, the brass was looking at her strangely. "Miss Chase, are you feeling all right?" one of the assistant directors asked her.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that - I, uh, just had sort of an...an episode," Cordelia made her pretty lame excuses.

"Episode? What sort of episode? Your agent never mentioned anything about a medical condition!" another big shot looked at her in annoyance.

"It's nothing!" Cordelia insisted, even though she was obviously sweating. "Really, I promise you, it's a non-issue! It, it almost never happens anymore-"

"You mean, it's happened before in the past!?" one of the producers demanded.

"All right, that's it. Everyone, take five," the casting director said to the audience at large. Then the head honcho glanced at his personal assistant, before walking away and the gathered assembly started to break up.

Cordelia had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, as the PA soon got her alone. "That was *quite* a performance, I have to say," the blond woman said archly.

"Look, if you just give me another chance-" the seer started to say desperately.

"Let me ask you something, Miss Chase - what's your motivation?"

The question took the former Queen C by surprise, as the assistant went on, "Because on *this* show, we demand nothing but the best. And quite frankly, you obviously seem to have problems delivering."

Cordelia's dream of red carpets, expensive limousines and flashing light bulbs began to fade away. "Is this the part where you say 'don't call us, we'll call you'?"

"Not quite. Two things first; one, acting lessons. You need *lots* of them. And two, the way you're dressed, don't ever be afraid to sleep with the director if you really want to get ahead in this business."

Instantly, that raised the Queen of Mean's rage and ire. { Who the hell does this bitch in heels think she is? Because I'm Cordelia Chase. The nastiest girl in Sunnydale's history. I take crap from no one, and nobody talks that way to me! NOBODY! }

Instinctively drawing herself up to her full height, Cordelia glared down at her shorter companion. "If you're done? Well, I have two things to say to you as well. One, if you can't appreciate my talents for what they are, then that's your loss. And two, given all the interest in my sex life? Maybe you ought to consider getting one yourself that doesn't need batteries!"

Cordelia Chase, head held high, then turned around and imperiously strode away without looking back once. And thus, she failed to see the other woman's face contort into a mask of seething fury and hatred.

There was a reason why this somewhat heated exchange had occurred, actually. And it was one whose roots lay in the past of this brave new world, back on the Hellmouth of late 1998.

Less than a week after Xander had disappeared into that hell dimension and was missing presumed killed, Cordelia had *finally* learned the big news about her ex-boyfriend. And that was on the same day she had encountered a jock in the hallway known as John Lee Walker, who was another of her ex's.

Unlike what would have happened in the original timeline, their meeting had not gone well. Upset, Cordy had unleashed her razor-sharp tongue on the guy, instead of trying to make Xander jealous; and that boy, who had been demoted to second string on the football team and feeling the peer pressure a lot, had borne the brunt of it in shock and pain.

And later that night...John Lee had wrapped his car around an electrical pole. His death had been mercifully quick and relatively painless, at least according to the coroner.

But his aunt, the blond woman who now watched Cordelia depart with such savage loathing and disgust, hadn't seen it that way. The darling boy who had been the light of his parents' eyes had died because what that...bitch had done, and she had to pay for that.

Somehow.

And today had provided the perfect opportunity for her to get revenge.

Karma. What goes around, comes around as they used to say.

"For you, John," the woman named April Thompson muttered, suddenly feeling empty and yet also in weary pain, as Cordelia Chase vanished from her sight.

And somewhere up above, Jasmine smiled at how all her options were still fully open here.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Forty-seven**

 **Madrid, Spain. July 11, 2001**

Cyrus leaned back, and took a long gulp from the beer he had ordered a few minutes ago.

The blonde man was enjoying his time in Spain. The Americans he was now somewhat closely associated with had gone back to the land of the Yankees, but he was here on his own enjoying some rest and relaxation time.

The Americans were certainly feeling uptight about something, there was certainly no doubt about that. That war against the Order of Taraka was proof of it. Still, Cyrus didn't worry too much about it - because he could take care of himself, thank you very much. And right now, he was also truly enjoying himself.

One thing you could definitely say about European women, they weren't as hung up on youth as the bloody American ones were. And he had been taking advantage of that fact a great deal.

"Hello, Cyrus."

The South African looked up in response, and immediately stiffened. He knew the African man standing in front of him. {Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have been more aware of my surroundings. } He thought to himself worriedly.

"Don't worry, man, this is not a hostile visit. No matter how much it should be." The new arrival then sat down without being invited. "You've gotten some new travelling companions," was the next terse comment from him.

"Yes. My travel agent made quite impressive arrangements," Cyrus said cynically.

"And curiously enough, they have informally put out the word that it would be an unwelcome state of affairs for all parties involved - if certain things in the past were to be dredged up, so to speak." The black man grimaced, clearly uncomfortable in Cyrus' presence. "So be it. But there's something about that wild tale you told many years ago, about things that go bump in the night..."

"Well, that was so long ago - when everything was different," Cyrus said at once, unsure where this conversation was going.

"True. However, you've heard of Bouvet Island?"

This puzzled Cyrus even more. "Yes, deserted island in the south Atlantic. We had some business meetings near there during the late 1970s."

The African nodded. "However, you weren't as clever as you thought you were. American satellites caught a glimpse of-"

"Nothing was ever proven," Cyrus interrupted defensively, his mind going back over 20 years and cursing himself for not being careful enough back then.

"I already told you, your past sins aren't my concern today. I'm just here to tell you that your new friends may want to take another look there. Something's going on, and it appears right up the alley of your new...associates."

The black guy stood up. "So now, I'm going to go and find more pleasant company. Here's hoping for your sake, that I never see you again." With that, he walked off and left Cyrus sitting there at the table.

 **The White House, Washington D.C. July 12, 2001**

Vice President Dick Cheney frowned. "I still don't think it's a good idea, waiting to take action like that."

"We must not move too early. If we do so, we will lose the only advantage we have," the child genius known as Irving Hollins interrupted. "It could very well cause the enemy to react in ways we cannot hope to anticipate."

"And if something goes wrong? We could have the damn planes crashing into the World Trade Center and killing thousands of people!" Cheney said, as he leaned back in the chair at the head of the table in the basement briefing room.

"There is that risk," Cleburne agreed. "However, we've got a pretty good idea what their master plan is, and when they'll execute it. And that point will be our best shot to intercept them."

"Why not just prevent the planes from ever taking off?" Condi Rice asked from her seat next to Cheney.

Esther Marcum responded to that one. "Because it would stop the attacks on that day, but nothing else. We would not have a clear mandate to respond as we must. There will be people saying that we overreacted, and that there wasn't really ever such a big threat in the first place!"

Cleburne leaned forward. "She's right. There are still people out there who think the Israelis were in the wrong, to throw the first punch back in 1967. Those guys had every reason to think they were about to get hit incredibly hard, still - people held their actions against them then, and still do so today. This way, there's no doubt that we're in the right."

Attorney General John Ashcroft spoke up, "The FBI could easily sweep up all the terrorists, they wouldn't get anywhere near the planes."

"And what exactly would we charge them with? Until they take definite action in seizing those aircraft, we don't even have probable cause to arrest the criminals for anything all that serious. And even if we do convict the worker ants, the people who sent them are still beyond the reach of the courts," Esther said.

Cheney was clearly not happy. "Imagine the media circus if we screw this up!"

"Well, imagine the New York Times saying how we're overestimating the threat potential! The politicians could refuse to endorse what we need to do about Afghanistan and al-Qaeda," the bearded man named Scheuer said. "Look, some of my predecessors may have been an egotistical empire builders, but they were absolutely right about the need to take out the terrorist camps in that particular country. If we don't remove those places first and foremost, bin Laden and the Taliban will just keep on cranking out suicide bombers to come at us!"

"When you set out to take Vienna, take Vienna," Cleburne said.

"What?" Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld spoke up. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's a saying by Napoleon. It means no half-measures. Do not start something only to stop halfway through. We can't just lob cruise missiles at empty tents!" Cleburne's remark got heads around the table nodding, as everyone in the room remembered how the Clinton administration's retaliatory strikes against terrorists hadn't really accomplished anything.

"To make this work, we need boots on the ground, lots of boots and lots of grounds. To do that we need political support, the ordinary people of the country need to be behind sending their sons and daughters off to war. I mean, *we* all know it's important, but the public has to know it too. Very clearly. And I mean no doubts, no protest marches back home. We saw what happened in Vietnam and Lebanon. They need a reason so plain even the conspiracy theory nuts can't dispute it!"

The room was silent for a few seconds. The Wizard spoke up, "Colonel Cleburne raises good points. The plans proposed so far are far-reaching, and cannot be completed quickly. They will require a long-term commitment from both the President and Congress. And such a commitment must have public support behind it, or the plans will fail. A clear demonstration of the danger will help obtain that public support."

"Besides, John Wayne never shot first," Cleburne commented. Esther Marcum rolled her eyes at that.

"Can we guarantee that nothing will slip by?" Cheney said.

"100%? No," Rumsfeld replied. "However, we know which flights are going to be hit. We know all of the airports they're flying out of. We know some of the passengers on the flights. We're tracking persons of interest taking flying lessons, and we can track them when they buy their plane tickets. Other than shutting down all air traffic in the United States, I'd say there's nothing more we could do."

"Also, we have the advantage of knowing when and where certain things will happen and certain people will be. If we interfere with that, they'll scatter to the four winds and regroup for a new and deadlier attack," Hollins said. "We'll only get one shot at this. Thus, we have to take it at the best time."

"At a time and place of their choosing," Cheney said, still unswayed.

"But, keep in mind we'll control the places they choose," Cleburne said. "Each of those planes will have many of our people on them."

"And if you miss them, and they get to succeed in striking a blow for the jihad?" Cheney asked.

"Lamp posts," Cleburne said simply.

"What?" the Vice President demanded in an irritated tone.

"In 1940, when FDR ordered the relevant authorities to sell equipment to the British, and an Army general said that if Britain fell to the Nazis and the U.S. needed that equipment? Subsequently, everyone involved in the deal would be found hung from a lamp post," Hollins explained didactically.

That caused everyone in the room to be silent for a few seconds. Secretary of State Colin Powell then spoke up, for the first time.

"Colonel, if all this goes completely south during September, no doubt you won't be the only one found hanging from a lamp post."

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. July 14, 2001**

"Okay, *why* am I here again?" Xander asked, as he sat on a deck chair and looked out at the ocean.

"Because you needed some R&R," the U.S. Navy SEAL informally known as Red answered as he sat in a chair behind Harris. Oz and Fred were seated in chairs next to Xander, and appeared pretty relaxed.

"Well, but I could just as easily relax in the Bahamas. Or the Virgin Islands, or maybe even Tahiti. Why Cuba?" Xander opened his eyes and looked back at Red.

"These are great beaches, you have to admit," Byrne commented.

"Yes, fine, but again why here, in the middle of a Navy base with Marines everywhere? Why not one of the other places I just mentioned?" Xander wasn't going to let up on the subject.

"Well, Tahiti is ruled by the French, so that's automatically out - as far as you're concerned," the Navy commander started to explain. "The Bahamas are nice, but the level of security we have there simply isn't what the colonel feels comfortable with; the Virgin Islands, ditto. Here in Cuba, well - Gitmo is completely secure, pretty much. No one gets onto the base without the permission of the military. No civilians or tourists to worry about, either. Everything's nice and safe here."

"In the middle of communist Cuba?" Fred commented.

"You bet, this is probably one of the safest places on Earth! The only problem is when the Navy brats who grew up here go to the States, they have to be taught to be aware of street crime. They keep wanting to hitchhike and stuff like that," Red said, shaking his head. "This place really is a slice of America not seen back home since...oh, say, 1950."

"Like segregation," Oz commented laconically.

Commander Michael Byrne, Boston blue blood and all-American soldier, frowned at that sort of remark and the itchy sensation it caused. "Look, important thing is that outside of a ground invasion by Castro's boys, we can maintain complete control over who comes and goes here. There's no better place for you to be safe than here, outside U.S. borders."

"I'm touched by your concern," Xander muttered.

"Well, considering how a lot is about to happen in the next few months, we don't want to take any risks with your safety. The Wizard is worried about affecting the flow of history and all that. Why take chances?" Red closed his eyes and leaned back. "It's also a great place to visit."

"And our little trip has nothing to do with all the soldiers and operatives who've been sent here for training, regarding 9/11?" Xander asked.

"Well, you know how it is with any good place to visit, the tourists will naturally gravitate towards it," Red replied, trying to hide a smirk.

"They probably came for the beaches," Fred said excitedly, thinking about whether she should try on her new bikini and give Xander an eyeful.

"Maybe. Oh, almost forgot - Finn's supposed to be here before too long. He's flying in from Central America," Red commented.

"It'll be good to see him again. Do you know if he's travelling alone?" Xander recalled Samantha, and wondered if she and Riley had gotten together by now.

"I don't know. Why do you ask?" Red said.

Xander smiled. "You'll see."

 **Somewhere in Costa Rica. Later that day**

Graham Miller motioned to Riley Finn. "C'mon, man, we have to go now!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Riley hurried toward his fellow soldier.

"We can't be late for this one. We're dead meat if we are," Graham said simply.

"Worse ways to go," Riley observed.

"For you, maybe, but me? I like keeping all of my body parts firmly attached," Graham held the door open for the Army Ranger. Riley went through, and everyone on the other side of the door turned and looked at him.

"Sorry, took longer than I thought - getting the demon guts out of the tuxedo," he explained, hurrying up the aisle. And trying to ignore the disapproving looks from his prospective bride's parents

"I was getting worried, Captain Can-Do. You weren't planning to slip out on me, were you?"

Riley hurried up to stand next to Sam, who was dressed in her beautiful white wedding gown, as Graham took his place next to Finn in order to ride shotgun. "No, honey, I would never do that!" the groom said, sending a brief glance to his best man.

Sam suddenly smiled at her soon-to-be husband. "Good, 'cause it took a helluva lot of work to get all this set up here! I would hate to have to hunt you down and kill you..." The former Peace Corps worker turned to the Catholic priest. "Okay, we're ready."

What the hell. It was three months earlier than it otherwise would have been, and it wasn't being held in a military chopper just before a hairy night drop into hostile territory. But in the ultimate grand scheme of things, what difference did all that really make to the marriage of Riley and Samantha Finn?

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

 **An isolated castle, somewhere in the Swiss Alps. July 20, 2001**

"So it's true, then? The Order of Taraka is no more?" Elizabeth Bathory demanded.

"Yes, mistress. The Order's last stand was rather spirited, but in the end utterly futile. The Americans and their Israeli allies were quite effective in exterminating them. As far as I know, there are not even remnants of the Order left in the world today," her servant said respectfully.

"Well, I certainly won't shed any tears if those incompetent fools allowed themselves to be destroyed, after bungling the job I paid for! However, I find it disturbing that the humans were able to so easily destroy an organization of such antiquity. What might they do to myself, if they were to learn of my existence..." Bathory commented.

"There is surely nothing to fear on that front, mistress. You're powerful and wise enough that nothing could ever possibly threaten you."

Bathory smiled at the servant's grovelling. {The little toad's fawning is laughable, but also factually correct. Well, I suppose I may as well let him live a little while longer! } "Of course, I would be a tougher proposition than the Order." She looked out the castle window at the night sky. "The Immortal has not been able to learn anything about these humans who seem interested in their betters?"

"When last we spoke, all he had been able to find out is that for some reason, the deceased Wizard's former associates are interested in the Hellmouths in both Ohio and California."

She nodded. "As well they should, nothing else?"

"Rumors only. There were some hints of a connection between them and a human organization from the previous century, circa the 1920s."

Bathory turned to face her servant. "Delta Green?"

The servant's face showed surprise for once in his life, dangerous as that was. "Yes, mistress, that was the name given to me."

"Typical. As I recall, the Immortal was too obsessed with enjoying himself back then to really notice what was going on in the world. If he hadn't been so busy indulging his damned sexual appetites, the fool would have noticed all the things that were active then!"

The servant wisely kept quiet after Bathory's comment.

"Well, never mind. If this so-called *Timetripper* is connected to Delta Green, that helps explain more than a little of what has been happening lately. Hmmm, I suppose this is cause for greater concern..." Bathory paused. "Is there anything new on whether or not the Timetripper has a girlfriend?"

"No, mistress."

She thought for a few seconds. "Very well. In that case, I have a new task for you."

"Yes, mistress?" the servant bowed respectfully.

"Find out where this Timetripper person is, no matter where they've hidden him. Once that is done, let Ivan Roja know that I want to see him."

 **UC Sunnydale Library, Sunnydale, California. July 23, 2001**

Willow Rosenberg made a note on her notepad, as she continued reading the textbook.

The fact was that the young witch truly loved being a student, filling her mind with any and all forms of knowledge. Otherwise, how else could one explain the fact that it was eight o'clock in the evening, and she was actually studying for a school year that hadn't started yet?

Willow was definitely looking forward to the upcoming junior year of college. And not just for academic reasons, either.

Tara, Jonathan and herself had been researching transmogrification spells for well over a year now. And despite all the wrong turns and false leads, they felt confident that before too long they would be able to return Amy the rat back to human form.

On the non-Wicca front Joyce Summers was getting better, and she was able to walk for short periods of time now. Her daughter Dawn was starting to go back to the whiny rebellious adolescent she'd once been too, which come to think of it - was a bit of a mixed blessing.

True, Buffy was still a little depressed over the pool party thing from weeks ago. Still, all in all, life wasn't too bad right now.

And as said, Willow wanted to be prepared for her Modern Media class when it started in late August. So here she was in the library, reading up on the subject when she didn't have to.

When all of a sudden, the Jewish girl heard an ominously familiar male voice. "Following in Giles' footsteps, over how he really lived for school? I'm sure he's still bitter over how there were only twelve grades back then!"

Willow raised her head in astonishment and looked around, "What-?"

"Hey, Will."

Again the voice sounded damned familiar, as the young woman looked around - and felt her entire world freeze.

"You're dead," Willow managed to stutter out, as she *finally* identified who the voice belonged to.

"Yeah, well, that seems to be the popular opinion anyway," that which looked like Xander Harris smiled, as he sat down in the chair across the table from Willow. "I hear you've been active, though!"

"This isn't poss- I saw the explosion, we all did. We, we searched throughout the ruins for your body..." Willow whispered.

"I know, but doesn't matter - water under the bridge and all that. Look, Willow, I've been allowed to come back - on account of I need to talk to you," Xander said simply.

"Allowed to come back? From where? And who allowed it?" Willow asked. And somewhat tellingly, the former nerd didn't mention Faith's name.

"Sorry, but not allowed to say. They don't like anyone spoiling the big mystery," Xander explained, pointing upwards. "What I can say though is that quite a few of our old classmates are there. Larry says to say hi, by the way."

"Larry? But I saw his body after the Mayor...oh," Willow said softly. "You're..."

"Dead? Well, if I'm not, you really do have mental problems! And call me crazy, but I think we already covered that part," Xander replied somewhat snarkily. Just like Willow remembered...before the whole Big Lie and hell dimension thing, that is.

Willow instinctively jumped up as if to hug her oldest friend since childhood. However, she stopped when Xander moved back in his seat and waved her off. "Hold on, Wills - remember Halloween four years ago? Well, just like you back then, I'm not of the solid body persuasion here. And besides, we need to talk, it's important."

Willow swallowed and sat back down. Xander started talking again, "Hope you don't mind, but I've been watching you. All of you. And you've done alright, ever since I vacated the premises. You've handled some major problems over the last two years - like, I saw how that demon prince asshole pretty much taxed all of you, nearly to the limit! However, you all came through in the end. So, kudos to you guys on that one."

"Xander, I'm sorry..." Willow started to apologize for everything, only to be waved off again by Xander.

"I only have a limited amount of time here and a lot to talk about, so we don't have time for all that," he said with a semi-shrug. "Thing is, Will, I'm worried."

Willow frowned at that. "Worried about what?"

"You," was the short reply.

"Me?" Willow almost bleeped in reply.

"Yeah, you've been dabbling in some pretty powerful magicks over the last year or so. I know all about black-eyed Willow, both when that Toth creep came to town - and when you gave Darla her soul back!"

Willow's green eyes looked down. "Well, that first time, I-I-I *was* under the influence of magic!"

Xander nodded. "I know, but that's the problem right there! You loved - no, you *still* love the mojo way too much. The rush it gave you, it almost consumed that version of you. Tell me that sometimes you don't crave that feeling again?"

Willow shifted uncomfortably. "No, I'm-"

Xander interrupted firmly, "Willow. Don't try to lie to me, there's no point! You could hide things from me, sometimes, but you could never successfully lie to my face like that. I mean, I could name a million times where you tried to stumble your way through unconvincing lies that way! Like, remember Billy Fordham?"

Willow gulped at Xander's tone. "All right, fine. Yes, I *do* miss the feeling of power sometimes. The knowledge of what I could do. How I could make things right, a-and fix them. That if I could learn how to raise the dead."

"Oh, geez, but listen to yourself Will! Who do you think you are, God? It's not up to you to decide who lives and who dies! You're heading full tilt into the dark side of the Force, with that sort of mindset. And this keeps up, you'll soon be all in black again with a helmet and breath mask before you know it-"

Willow shook her head at Xander's accusation. "No I wouldn't! Never. I learned my lesson-"

"Come on, Willow, how often have you watched Buffy over the last five years and wished that you had that kind of power?" Xander asked. "It's human nature, you can't help how you feel. And at times it really eats up you inside, doesn't it?"

Willow didn't respond, clearly uncomfortable.

Xander continued, "So you have to watch yourself all the time now, to be sure you don't slip up and lose control. Because if you *do* lose control." Xander left the thought hanging in the air. "Do you know yet what you tried to do in the history I remember, from your botched little memory spell?" he asked.

Willow audibly gulped. "What?"

"You tried to destroy the world, during May 2002. End it all in a big ball of fire," Xander answered, as the redhead's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Dark Willow really went off the deep end that day..."

Willow was shaking her head now vigorously. "No, no, I would never do that, never!"

Xander smiled sadly. "But you did. You were in pain, and lots of it. You were taking it out on others, and eventually decided to end the pain of everyone in the world. Not a smart notion, by the way!"

"Why and how?" she asked softly.

Xander appeared to sigh. "Someone you loved died in your arms. It pretty much drove you Insane-O Girl. That's why you hurt a lot of people."

"I did?" Willow said, staring at her companion.

"You threatened to turn Dawn back into the Key. Giles was beaten up to the point where we thought he was gonna die. Buffy, well, you really went to town on her!" Xander explained.

"Tara?" Willow managed to get out.

Xander didn't answer that one. "You hurt people, Willow, hurt 'em bad. You even killed a guy - two if you wanna count that other scumbag. You slipped and lost control."

"What about Tara?" Willow said with more force.

Xander again ignored the question. "Willow, the magic and the dark side of magic is inside you. And it's struggling to come out."

"What happened to Tara?" Willow demanded angrily, as she stood up suddenly.

Xander actually leaned back and blinked at that. "She...okay, she's the reason why you completely lost it. You wanted power because of what happened to her. Lots of it, and you didn't care how dark it was," Xander explained with a grimace.

Willow sat back down. "She died," the young woman then said in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Willow, you're endangering everyone you love," Xander said pleadingly, not confirming that but not denying it either. "And you don't want to do that, do you?"

"How?"

"What?" Xander said in response to Willow's question.

"How did it happen? How did Tara die?" Willow asked.

"I can't say-" Xander started off.

"The hell you can't, you know and you can tell me!" Willow semi-shouted. "And don't you dare say you're not allowed to because of some stupid rules! This is *Tara* we're talking about!"

Xander shrugged apologetically. "Willow, the rules are in place for a reason, whether you like it or not. I can't break those rules."

"But you're already breaking them just by being here," Willow pointed out. "What difference does a few extra words make at this point?"

"Willow, I'm here to save the world. We can't lose sight of the big picture here," Xander replied.

"And just how do we not lose sight of the big picture?" Willow demanded sarcastically.

"By being willing to sacrifice," Xander explained, the apologetic look back on his face.

Willow looked at Xander, and suddenly - something regarding his appearance really started to bother her. {The face, something about it.} "We make sacrifices every day, just by living in Sunnydale," the redhead finally commented.

Xander shook his head. "No, I'm not talking about the little stuff. Staying up late to patrol isn't the issue here. Like it or not, you have to make sure you never use magic again."

"Huh? Give up magic completely? Well, uh, we have Jonathan and Tara now to do that sort of stuff, so I suppose if it's necessary I could just become Net Girl again." Willow said musingly.

"No, Willow. The temptation would still be there, and you would give in sooner or later. I *know*. There's only one thing that'll make sure the magic doesn't consume you and everything else."

Willow looked at Xander. "What's that, some kind of spell?"

Her companion seemed to take a deep breath before answering. "No. You need to kill yourself."

Willow's eyes widened in shock. "WHAT!?"

"It's the only way, Willow, the only way the world can be made safe. I know it's tough, but it's all for the best." Willow just stared at Xander. "Look at it this way, it's not all bad - you'll be with me again."

Willow was silent for a few seconds more. Then she broke the silence, with a firm look on her face. It wasn't a Resolve Face, mind you, but something close to it. "Who are you? Because I know you're not Xander Harris."

"Will..." the male part of the equation started to say.

"Don't you 'Will' me, whoever or whatever you are. Xander, *my* Xander, would never say something like that! He'd know what kind of horrible pain it would cause my parents, from me offending their religion that way! And yes, we had a huge problem between us because I was so *stupid* that night on the street three years ago...but Xander never wanted me dead, or to commit suicide! Now you want me to cut my own throat? Oh, please!"

"You were willing to do just that a little under a year ago," Xander said, referring to the time Willow had been split into two.

"No, I was prepared to do whatever it took to stop my evil side going on a rampage," Willow said.

"Well, same thing here!" Xander replied firmly.

"No, no, no! That was a clear and present danger then, not some kinda nebulous future maybe danger. Also, Giles and the others tried to talk me out of it. My friends weren't urging me on like you," Willow explained. "Xander may have hated me for what I did, but he never tried to harm me."

"You need to do this." Xander said forcefully.

"No, whatever you are, *you* need me to do it. You can't do it yourself, or you would have already attacked me by now - right?" Willow suddenly reached over and poked the false image of her one-time best friend, and sure enough her finger went right through his chest. "Well, looks like you didn't lie about being noncorporeal."

"You little bitch! Not even Angel was this annoying!" the fake Xander suddenly hissed, finally dropping the act.

Willow then stared at Xander for a few moments, as the tumblers finally clicked in her head and the woman figured out what had been bothering her before. "You're older."

"What?" the faux Xander seemed genuinely surprised by this observation.

"The dead don't age, you moron! You're good - got the voice and the mannerisms down perfect, yeah, but you slipped up on the face! Because ghosts and angels don't age, you know, just like vampires...like Angel, who you obviously know from somewhere. Look at you - you look like Xander in his mid-twenties, or maybe even older."

The impostor hissed incoherently at that even as Willow went on, "Now, Xander was in his early twenties after he came back from that hell world I sent him to - even if I only saw him up close once, after he came back from LA. But he wouldn't have continued aging after he got blown up in the library! You have. So obviously, you're not Xander." Willow declared.

"But I look just like he is now, damn it," the fake Xander muttered with what appeared to be chagrined annoyance.

"What?" Willow asked, not hearing that clearly.

The fake Xander shook his head and glared at Willow, focusing back on the job at hand. "You need to do this, you have to kill yourself!"

"Xander would never say that," Willow said again firmly. "I don't know what kind of shape-shifter demon you are, but you obviously don't know squat about who Xander *really* was. Yellow crayon!" she suddenly blurted out.

"What? Look, I don't have time for this Will, you have to do it now."

"Xander would know what the yellow crayon meant. Who are you?"

What appeared to be the former Scooby released a frustrated snarl. "Look, I don't have time for flashbacks to elementary school and what you ate on a dare."

"You're just guessing, and you know what? You guessed wrong," Willow shot back. "You have no idea what I'm talking about! Get out, you, you..." the Rosenberg woman searched for a mean enough word. "Frog in disguise!" she finally shouted out.

The evil thing wearing Xander's face stood up. "You have no idea what's coming, little girl. By the time I'm done with you and your friends, *all of them*, you'll wish you had killed yourself tonight!"

He pointed at her. " _Desde abajo te devora_."

Suddenly the false Xander's mouth flew open, impossibly large, to reveal a set of sharp teeth stretching back the mouth. Willow blinked as it somehow looked like the teeth circled the whole head, then suddenly he, or it, or whatever, went transparent. And then - the First Evil was gone.

Willow almost fell back into the chair she had risen from. "Oh boy," she said, just like out of an episode of the TV show _Quantum Leap_.

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. An hour later**

The Avengers had assembled, and a research party was currently in place.

Willow had left the college library after her encounter with that monster, and gone to what had become the substitute for the old Sunnydale High library in this day and age; Giles' magic store. A few phone calls later, and everyone bar Dawn and Joyce had come to help with the book learning.

"Desde abajo te devora," Jonathan said, looking through a book. "What does that mean?"

"Uh, I know my high school Spanish sucks, but isn't it something like, 'it eats you starting with your bottom'?" Andrew asked timidly.

Everyone briefly stared at the guy, as Anya gave him a quick slap upside the head. "Go back to looking stuff up in the books, you crazy little monkey!" she huffed.

"Got it! I just Googled the words and 'translation', and it actually means, 'from beneath it devours you'!" Willow said triumphantly, leaning back in her chair.

Giles looked thoughtful, a dictionary in his hand. "Actually, from the root sentence structure and the tense association, I think it more accurately translates to 'from beneath you it devours'."

"Oh," the former hacker looked momentarily taken aback. "Sorry."

"That's quite all right," Giles said calmly. "Now think, Willow. Did this...creature...say or do anything which might reveal why it wanted you dead?"

Ms. Rosenberg shook her head, for oddly enough - no one here had made the connection to the events of Christmas '98 back then. "Not really. It put on a pretty darn good act, though! Oh, did Angel say whether he knew anything about what it might be?"

"No," Giles grimaced, think about his recent phone call to LA. "Apparently he has no idea, with so little to go on. And he seemed rather in a rush, like he had an emergency to deal with, so I don't expect we'll be hearing much from him again anytime soon."

"Sorry," Willow again apologized.

"It's not your fault, Will," Buffy said comfortingly, as she came up to her best friend. "So, what was it like? I mean, seeing, him?"

Willow sighed, again leaning back in her chair and thinking about the presumed-dead Xander Harris. "Oh, Buffy...I really wanted it to be real, y'know? I wanted it to be the real Xander so much, but I couldn't fool myself about it, from the moment I figured out the truth. Whatever that thing was, it was just a...a skin-deep imitation. A cheap and nasty fake!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I really wish it could have been real for you," Tara said comfortingly, massaging Willow's shoulders.

The redhead couldn't help thinking, {What if the fake Xander didn't lie about Tara getting killed in about nine months, though? What if whatever happened in that other world...also happens here? } Resolve began to be born in her heart, {No way, that's not gonna happen. I'm gonna do whatever I have to do, whatever it takes to keep her safe! }

 **Cleveland, Ohio. July 24, 2001**

"Samuel Zabuto here, may I help you?" the Cleveland-based Watcher asked as he answered the ringing phone.

"Mr. Zabuto? It's Rupert Giles calling."

Zabuto stiffened as he heard who was calling him. The Watchers Council had ordered him to not have any contact with the now ex-Watcher in Sunnydale. And he had obeyed this directive, until this moment.

"Rupert, a pleasure to hear from you once again. I hope you understand though when I say that I may not have time for a leisurely chat..."

"Samuel, if I may, as much as I regret it - this is not a social call," Giles replied. "I need your help."

Zabuto knew what the Watchers Council would want him to do. Hang up and report the contact, with no assistance provided. He thought about following their orders, for roughly a nanosecond.

"Of course, Rupert. What can I do to assist?"

"One of my charges had an encounter with what we think is some sort of noncorporeal demon, that has left her rather shaken. I need to properly identify the culprit."

"How certain are you that it was a demon?" Zabuto asked with a frown.

"Well, it appeared to have the ability to mimic the appearance of a deceased friend of hers. It also demonstrated some very odd behaviour at the end of the encounter, which made us think it might be a demon as opposed to a warlock or an astral projection of some sort," Giles explained.

"Odd behaviour? What sort?"

"Teeth, I'm afraid. It had teeth that appeared to go all the way around its head. It also said something."

"What?" Zabuto asked of the expatriate British citizen.

"It was in Spanish, but the best translation we have is 'from beneath you it devours'," Giles replied. "And I've been researching all night, but I can't find a reference to that phrase anywhere. I was wondering if maybe you had run across it before, or might be able to make some discreet enquiries?"

Zabuto nodded to himself. "I will see what I can find out, determine if that saying is connected to any particular entity. It might take a few days, though."

"Of course, any help you could give would be greatly appreciated," Giles replied.

"Not at all. I'll call you when I know something," Zabuto said before hanging up.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. Later that afternoon**

"You needed me for something?"

Angel looked up, as Gwen entered his office. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you for ages!" he demanded of the seer/thief.

Ms. Raiden shrugged. "Got struck by lightning. Again."

"What!?" the head of Angel Investigations wanted to know with some trepidation.

Calming him down, the brunette woman quickly explained how it was nothing to get bent out of shape over. "It's happened before, and over a dozen times at that, okay? So don't freak out the way Charles did!"

"Gunn?" Angel asked in confusion.

"Yeah, we were hanging out on Venice Boulevard when it happened. No big deal! Anyway, what did you want to see me about?"

Angel took a moment to note how the black man and the seer had started hanging out a lot lately. "Well, I got a phone call last night from Sunnydale." 

"Your old hangout, right?" Gwen asked.

Angel nodded, the memories of that town not exactly all pleasant ones. "Rupert Giles called asking a question. Turns out something happened to one of the girls up there, and it sounded to me like something we should let your friends back east know about."

Gwen snorted. "Friends? Friends don't interfere with your livelihood, Angel. Apart from Howard and one or two others, let's just say they're my sponsors - and leave it at that!"

Angel briefly smiled at her words. He wasn't that thrilled with the people he had met from STW either. "Fine, but I still think they need to know about this. It concerns a mutual friend of ours, if you know what I mean."

Gwen instantly knew who Angel was referring to. "What's up?" she asked.

"Someone or something is running around dressed up as him, paying a visit to his old friends and trying to get them to commit suicide," Angel explained. "I think it's whatever is responsible for his current situation."

Gwen nodded at that. "Yeah, I can see why that would be of interest to him and his keepers. Can you tell me anything more?"

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. July 26, 2001**

"Dr. Hollins?"

The child genius looked up in response to the greeting from Esther Marcum, noticing David Nabbit following close behind her. "Good morning Mrs. Marcum, Mr. Nabbit. I hope you're enjoying this fine weather?" Irving responded, as he put down the glass of orange juice he had been drinking when Esther had come into the kitchen.

"I must admit, the climate is lovely. How are you enjoying your little tropical vacation?" Esther said.

"Yeah, uh, you must be loving your time here in paradise," Nabbit said, looking around.

Hollins shook his head. "Actually, I must admit I am most anxious to get back to Chicago and the university. Being officially dead for all those weeks until the Order was eliminated was most vexing, in that I was unable to function properly in almost any way at all! And now this enforced vacation, although understandable with regard to strategy and reason, is completely grating on my nerves."

Esther looked around. "Where's Cleburne? I thought he was bunking in this villa as well?"

"He is. But this morning, he's out playing on the planes. Trying to get inside the mind of those terrorists, as to how they're planning on capturing those four commercial air flights," the Wizard explained.

"I've always been a little afraid, you know, over how Cleburne seems to so easily be able to think like a terrorist," Esther commented as she sat down at the breakfast table. Nabbit did likewise, a little nervous - since the conversation was in a field he still felt very uncomfortable with.

"There is that. Still, I've found Joshua to be extremely effective at his job over the years. He can anticipate what the enemy will do, in a way few others can," Hollins remarked as he moved the plate of biscuits over to where Esther was sitting.

"Thank you. How is Cleburne coming with the preparations, anyway?" Esther took a biscuit and reached for the butter.

"Well, all the personnel are here now. They don't know exactly what's coming, of course, but they know something is up and that they've been picked to deal with it," Hollins replied. "Joshua wants to wait a little while longer before he tells them specifics."

"I heard that Riley Finn brought a friend with him," Esther observed out of the blue.

"Hmm, 'friend' is not entirely accurate. Cleburne was most..." Hollins thought for a second about his choice of words before he continued, "...perturbed over Mrs. Finn's arrival. If not for the fact that she already knew about the paranormal, I think he might have detained her in one of the base's jails! As it is, however, it looks as though STW has gotten itself a new recruit."

"I'd say so, particularly if we want to keep Finn onboard," Esther remarked.

"Well, the man is living up to the high recommendation that Mr. Harris gave him nearly two years ago," Hollins said.

"Speaking of our special colleague who uses many names, where is he?" Esther asked. "Some information has been forwarded to me that I need to ask him about."

Hollins raised an eyebrow at that. "Terrorist or paranormal in nature?"

"It concerns Sunnydale, so guess which," Esther said cynically.

Hollins shook his head. "That town, I swear. Someday soon I need to sit down and figure out just how much abnormal activity will happen there, before the rest of the country finally notices."

"If life in LA is anything to go by, quite a lot," David interjected briefly.

Irving then put down the napkin he had just used to wipe his mouth. "Anyway, Mr. Harris is currently with Joshua. Half out of the good colonel's belief that there might be some more additional information to obtain from him on the upcoming events, and half because Mr. Harris was bored out of his mind just sitting around here."

"Good, we'll go over there and ask the man just how worried we should be about this new tidbit. Also, maybe you can explain why Vice President Cheney has been complaining to me about all the memos he keeps getting from you about fuel efficiency in automobiles?"

Hollins got up to follow Marcum. "Quite simple. Nontraditional warfare, to weaken the enemy," the boy explained.

Esther held the door open. "You *do* remember though that both the President and the Vice President come from oil backgrounds?"

 **One of the base's airfields. Thirty minutes later**

Esther, Hollins and Nabbit looked down the aisle of the plane as Cleburne was measuring off the distance between the rear and the front. They could see he had a stopwatch in his hand, which Joshua was constantly glancing at while he walked. And at the front of the plane stood Xander, with a look of impatience on his face.

"This is the fifth time you've done that! Oh hey, guys," Harris said, when he noticed the new arrivals.

"Good morning, Mr. Howard," Esther said, using Xander's current alias. "We would like a few minutes of your time, if possible."

"Sure, anything to escape the boredom here!" Xander nodded towards Cleburne with a smirk.

"What, if anything, does the phrase 'from beneath you it devours' mean to you?" Esther asked point-blank.

The grin instantly left Xander's face. "Oh, shit. Sit down, this'll take awhile..."

 **One of the base's converted mess halls. Later that night**

"And so, may the years to come bring you both happiness and long life!" Graham called out in a loud voice, as the rest of the people in the hall joined in the toast of Riley and Sam Finn.

David Nabbit looked around, amazed how he of all people was here. Because the software mogul knew himself for what he basically was; and that was a rich geek, who loved to play D&D and make money off of his computer business.

So bottom line, the circles he normally moved in were either more nerdier or more brainier than this. A room of full of commandos and demon fighters were not something he was used to. Well, except for his time with Angel Investigations.

David could see the same spirit present amongst the various members of both those teams of good guys. Of course, the Siberians were far more militaristic. They had to be; ordinary humans had neither supernatural strength nor a mission of redemption to keep them going.

He put down his glass from the toast. He hadn't really drunk that much from it, as the man knew better than to try and keep up with the drinking binge the others at the table were going to engage in. Nabbit knew his limitations in regards to that, besides - he wanted to be clearheaded for the upcoming conversation.

"Excuse me, Mr. Howard?" he asked, after wandering over to the one man sitting alone.

Xander turned to David. "Yeah?"

"I hope this doesn't offend you, but I gotta ask - why are you sitting here all by yourself, so far away from everyone?"

Indeed, Oz and Fred weren't present tonight as Xander had asked the other two 'exiles' for some alone time. Harris gestured and David sat down, then the younger man said, "Thing is I only met Sam once, but it was still nearly a year from now. So I figure, why ruin her post-honeymoon welcome party having to deal with the freak constantly clutching his head, and moaning in pain?"

"I don't think you're a freak, Mr. Howard," David shot back at once.

Xander just raised an eyebrow. "Call me Xander. And you *do* know all about who and what I am from becoming a member of the new Committee, don't you?"

"Yeah, but still. You're only human, aren't you?"

Oddly enough, Xander just took a gulp from his beer and pondered that one. Eventually he replied, "Dude, I'd like to think so. But you know what? After everything I've learned in Pylea, the Deeper Well, and that STW hospital after Spike shot me...I just don't know anymore. At the very least, I'm different, physically and mentally."

"But there are plenty of people out there who vary from the norm, one way or another. And they're still human," Nabbit pointed out. "And everything what's happened to you over the years was like a million to one shot which can never happen again."

Xander laughed, an ugly sound that surprised David at once. "Been wondering about that lately myself. But how can I know that for sure?"

The Committee member didn't get it. "I'm sorry, what?"

Harris glanced at the other man, and saw something that allowed 'the one who sees' to confide in the geek. "How much do you know about what happens in the future? And I'm talking about the big finale, during 2003."

"Well, the First Evil gets...uh, 'scrunched', I think you called it this afternoon?" David asked.

"Yeah, man, but that's just it. How do I know the whole damn thing won't happen all over again, if Sunnydale goes the way of the dodo like that?" the Timetripper demanded.

When he saw the older man's confusion Xander sighed and explained, "Say we defeat the First again in about two years. Then when we kick its ass - history changes, like before. And I go through all that crap all over again; hell dimension, amnesia, Willow's memory retrieval spell, yadda yadda yadda. It was *bad enough* remembering two conflicting timelines, and trying to reconcile them inside my head. What do you think it'd be like with the memories of this particular go-around added in for laughs, the next time?"

David Nabbit just stared wide-eyed at Xander as the man went on, "Odds are with *three* conflicting versions of history in my brain, I'll go completely nuts before I can ever get Drogyn to help out with the Holy Grail!"

"I see...and, and there's nothing to preclude a fourth or even fifth do-over as well, is there? And so on every four years, ad infinitum. We, we could all end up prisoners without memory, in a jail cell without a key...human and demon alike..." David looked horrified, unconsciously quoting from the movie.

Xander just had another drink. "Not entirely. But the only one who'd remember it all...is me. A really Hellmouth-y version of ' _Groundhog Day_ ', huh?" Then he shrugged. "Sorry, I'm freaking you out at what's supposed to be a festive occasion here! I guess given my past, I just have this thing about anything to do with weddings."

"What? Why?"

Xander smirked. "Ever been to a gathering where the bride's side of the family are all demons, and the groom's side of the family are all monsters of the human variety?"

David just shook his head briefly. "Uh, what you said earlier, about the First?"

Xander tensed up. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, the way you describe it, time travel, able to appear as anyone who died, all these Bringers it has to do its bidding? It's bad, really bad," Nabbit said, his concern obvious.

"Got that right. After all, it's the First. All the others that came after, just pale imitations," Xander replied as he had another drink.

Nabbit looked around. "How do we beat it then?"

Xander grimaced. "Honestly? I don't know yet. I remember what happened during the first go-around, but by this time the First probably knows too. The amulet that..." Xander caught himself before he mentioned Spike's name. "Well, anyway, I'm not sure where it came from originally. I know Angel somehow got it from some evil lawyers...also, an army of Slayers? I'm not sure we'll be able to duplicate that spell this time around, or if we even should - if you wanna believe what Whistler said that night..."

"Evil lawyers? Do you mean Wolfram & Hart?" Nabbit asked, focusing on the first part of Xander's statement as he had no idea who Whistler was.

"Could be. I never did learn details."

"Too bad the First isn't like the aliens in ' _Independence Day_ '. You know, a quick computer virus followed by a nuke solved the whole problem," David said musingly.

"Doubt that would work here, pal. The First really wasn't all that computer savvy. Not a modern evil genius," Xander joked back.

"Well, except for the modern thing, it has all the hallmarks," Nabbit replied. He was silent for a few moments. "We'll beat it," he said in a hopeful tone of voice.

Xander was silent for a few seconds, before he nodded. "Yeah, we will. I owe it one for making my life a living hell. It's only polite to pay my debt." Then he noticed David's expression and sighed, "Okay, go ahead and ask."

"Huh?"

Xander just stared at the man. "I know what you want to ask me, fella, you have the Look. Same as everyone else over the last 2 1/2 years! We have mutual acquaintances in Angel and his Fang Gang, and I remember everything till 2003. So you wanna know, did I ever meet you in that other timeline - and do I know what happens to you in the future?"

{Wow. Is this guy perceptive or what!? } David thought to himself. Finally he just settled for nodding, not trusting his voice. {Okay, just keep cool. Pretend it's your turn to be Dungeon Master, and you're simply gonna fry all the dwarves and orcs that get in your way.}

"Sorry, Dave, but we never met. And I never even heard of you till you became part of STW here," Xander said with a shrug, absently looking around.

David sighed with disappointment. Xander looked back at him and suddenly smirked. "Question for ya. You've met Cordelia Chase, right?"

Nabbit looked confused. "Yeah?"

Xander's smirk deepened. "Well, thing is, everyone's told me how she's so different nowadays from when I knew her. So tell me, what's your impression of Cordy?"

"Well, she," the corporate mover and shaker just gestured helplessly, thinking back to the occasions where he had met the brunette seer.

"Lemme guess. Your money got her all hot and swoon-y, but as some guy in a bar - you think she wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot barge pole?" Xander asked.

David said nothing, but he didn't have to, even though he felt the need to defend Ms. Chase. And Harris just opened a can of soda, the smirk never leaving his face - as he briefly thought of the woman who'd been both girlfriend and enemy over the years. "Guess that's the Queen C I remember, all right..."

 **Rome, Italy. July 27, 2001**

The Immortal frowned as the lesser demon made his way from the nightclub's table. "This is becoming tiresome," he said out loud.

"I bore you? Well, I could always do something...different to keep your attention," was the response from his female supermodel companion.

The Immortal raised an eyebrow at that. {Ah, the implications.} "No, bella, of course I did not mean you! I was referring to the unfortunate news my retainer just brought me."

"Istanbul?" the supermodel said.

"Another one of my businesses is being subjected to undue interference from the authorities, yes," L'Eterno replied, silently wishing that this companion hadn't been so attentive to his earlier conversation. "I must see about diversifying."

The supermodel kissed the Immortal's neck. "That's what my stockbroker says to do."

The Immortal made a decision. "How would you like to take a trip with me? Get away to a warmer summer climate."

She smiled broadly. "It sounds grand. Where are we going?"

The Immortal returned her smile. "To see an old friend of mine. Charles Taylor. He has a wonderful country for us to visit."

 **Hong Kong, China. Later that day**

"Madam, are you quite sure that you want to travel this way?" the customs official asked in obvious concern.

Darla bit down her sarcastic response. Her old soulless self wouldn't have, she would have just ripped his throat open and bathed in his blood; but that wasn't who she was anymore. {Try not to take it personally. The fool is just trying to help someone who he thinks is a pregnant human, and all alone.}

Darla then glanced down at her belly. She was five months along now, and the bulge was quite noticeable these days. Connor was getting bigger by the day, and now,

Now, it was time for her to go back. Back to her friends, back to the Hyperion, and back to Angel. Because there were no more sources to check out, no more avenues to explore to try to understand why the miracle child had been conceived within her womb.

Hell, after that fiasco with Truganini, it had just been one disappointment after another...

"Madam?" the official asked again.

"I can't fly due to my condition," Darla finally replied, the blonde vampire placing a hand on her swollen stomach.

"Yes, perfectly understandable of course. But this ship?" the customs official said, as he waved at the tramp freighter behind him.

"A cruise ship would be too crowded for me. Besides, this way I can bring what I need and not worry about getting it mixed up with other passengers. Plus there's the fact that I'm just not a people person," Darla replied.

She nodded at the two porters behind her and they started wheeling the various crates to the ship. "Be careful with that!" the woman then said sharply.

She definitely did not want the pig's blood she had packed damaged in any way, it would have to do until she got to her destination. Even though it was getting harder and harder to stomach the damned stuff; Darla wanted human blood, and the purer the better, nowadays. {Vampire pregnancy cravings. Who would have ever thought it? }

The customs official sighed in defeat. "Very well then, madam. Er, everything appears in order, and so we're officially done here. But please do be careful, the crews of these ships are not exactly the most sterling of characters."

Darla actually smiled back at that. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

And somewhere in another plane of existence, the mercenary named Skip received a summons from his employer - for new orders, and new information to be imparted to him.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Forty-eight**

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. August 3, 2001**

"Buffy?" Willow called out, as she and Tara climbed up the stairs of the Summers home. The redhead then knocked on the door to the Slayer's bedroom.

"Come on in!" came Buffy's response from inside.

Willow opened the door. "I hope you don't mind us just dropping by like this, but your mom said it was all right-" She stopped a few feet into the door. "Buffy, what have you done!?"

"I've become a Rocket Booster," Buffy said with a certain amount of pride, as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror.

The image all three women saw was that of the blonde-haired college student modeling a cheerleader uniform, one that fitted all of Buffy's curves perfectly in all their glory. On the chest of the uniform was the slogan 'Rocket Booster' in bright purple letters.

"You've become a cheerleader?" Willow asked, her disbelief obvious to anyone with ears.

Buffy just smiled at that, still looking in the mirror. "Hey, Mom and Giles have been bugging me to get more involved with the whole college-y life thing. I've had some more free time recently, what with no Big Bad in months and Mom getting better, so I decided why not? Guess I just went back to what I know best: cheerleading."

"But, but back in high school! Witchcraft, and cheerleaders on fire, and Cordelia going blind, and, and-!" Willow managed to get out. She turned to explain to Tara, who the Wicca realized hadn't been there back then, and quickly noticed her girlfriend giving Buffy an appraising look. "Hey!" the young woman squeaked.

Tara promptly turned beet red. "S-s-sorry," she stammered out. "But even if I look and admire, my heart still belongs to you."

"Awww..."

That had the desired effect as Willow almost melted from that compliment. After a few seconds of sporting a goofy grin though, she turned back to Buffy. "But still, y'know, this isn't fair! Every time you put on a cheerleader uniform, whoever I have feelings for promptly goes all googly over you!"

Buffy almost chuckled at that. "Not entirely true, Will."

"Uh-huh, yes it is!" Willow said obstinately, as she sat down on Buffy's bed. "Back in high school during those auditions with you, Cordy, Amber and all the others, why do you think Xander secretly paid some guy to tape it all with a video camera? And I know for a fact he spent a huge amount of money on spare tapes after Amy's mom disappeared!" Willow smiled. "If he was still here now, well, we could definitely relive your glory days a little..."

Buffy smiled. "Huh. Well, I suppose I should kinda be creeped out by that, but for some reason I'm not." She moved over to the nightstand. "Anyway, I found out today that I made the team. I'm only cheering at the home games though, so I can still patrol and everything."

Tara moved over and sat down next to Willow. "You used to be a cheerleader?" she asked the Chosen One.

Buffy nodded. "Before I moved to Sunnydale and the whole Slayer gig started up again, I was all about the cheer at my old high school. 'Course, when I burned down the Hemery High gym while it was full of vampires, well...cheerleading just didn't figure as much in my life around then."

"Oh! Is Giles cool with this?" Willow asked out of the blue.

"Well, in his own British tweed-y way, yeah. 'Cause my first choice of extracurricular activity kinda caused him to go all red-faced and enter into 'I must insist' and 'this is an extraordinarily bad idea' mode! He actually suggested I try cheerleading! Giles said something about Merrick's diaries mentioning my joy of being a cheerleader," Buffy explained.

"What was your first choice?" Willow asked warily.

"Women's softball," Buffy responded innocently.

Willow raised her brows. "With aluminum bats?"

"You know, Giles said the exact same thing! I mean, so I hit a few more home runs than the other players, I don't see what the big deal is..." Buffy said in exasperation.

{Unfair Slayer advantage?} Willow and Tara exchanged a glance. "When's the first game?" Willow asked, changing the subject.

"End of the month," Buffy answered. "Before then, there are a couple of pep rallies and 'meet the team' sort of things."

"Well, I'm happy for you," Tara declared. "You'll do a great job shaking your pom-poms." Willow instantly burst out laughing. "What?" 

"Well, Buffy shaking her pom-poms? I, I just heard Xander's voice in my head saying 'yippeeee!'" Willow chortled.

With that, all three of the girls started laughing.

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. August 4, 2001**

"Come in!" Cleburne called out in response to the knocking on his (temporary) office door.

"You wanted to see me, Colonel?" Graham Miller said, as he entered the office.

"Yeah, Miller, have a seat," Joshua said, pointing at the seat on the other side of his desk.

Graham sat down and waited for Cleburne to start talking, like any junior officer would. He didn't have to wait long, though.

"So, you taking all this in stride or what?" the older guy asked.

Graham hesitated for a second. "It's...strange. We know we're about to get sucker-punched by the terrorists, all because of a man from the future who remembers it happening in about a month from now..."

Cleburne nodded. "Yeah, well, what can you do - Momma Cleburne never figured on her boy ever being involved in something like this, however, what about you, Captain Miller?"

"I signed up to defend my country and its people against any and all enemies, sir. From whatever may come, even the weirdness," Graham replied.

"Well, good. I have an assignment for you then, a command assignment." He waved aside Graham's half-formed objection. "We went through all this before, after Philadelphia! You're ready for command, and you're capable. I need good people in the air, and you're one of them."

Cleburne pushed over a clipboard with several papers attached to it. "Here's a list of operatives. Pick fifteen for your personal strike team."

"Fifteen?" Graham asked.

"Yeah, fifteen, there'll be about five bad guys aboard each flight - so I want to outnumber 'em three to one. I have no intention of playing fair when it comes to these ragheads," Cleburne explained. "We may have to let them throw the first punch, but we don't have to let them land it and then we get the second through tenth punches in return!"

Graham quickly scanned through the names, and then paused. He looked back up at the Marine colonel, "Uh, sir? Xander's name isn't down on this list?"

Cleburne scowled. "Yeah, don't remind me. Kid was starting to hassle me about that yesterday, before good luck intervened."

"Good luck, Colonel?"

"Well, depends on your point of view of course, but almost anything to stop his nagging was welcome at the time!" Cleburne saw Graham's questioning look. He said simply, "Mr. Howard and his friends will be back soon, they just had to take a short trip to the States to deal with a minor problem."

 **Cleveland, Ohio. Later that night**

Xander Harris ducked under the demon's blow, cursing himself and the situation in general.

It had all started innocently enough. Kate Lockley had reported some strange activities to her associates back east with regard to her adopted city; some demons she'd never seen before had been sighted close to the physical location of the Hellmouth, not long after an earthquake. The news had been forwarded on to Esther, who had then decided to check with Xander...

And the former Scooby had instantly identified them as Vahrall demons, the same kind that had tried to bring about the end of the world with the California Hellmouth, so long ago. After all, you don't easily forget a demon pummeling you to death almost right beside a naked Hellmouth.

Once the unknowns had been ID'ed, Harris had convinced Cleburne and the others that this had to be checked out further, given these demons' past record. And while Kennedy could probably take care of the situation without even breaking a sweat, it couldn't hurt to have some backup within the shadows so to speak.

Well, given Xander's familiarity with the demons who were 'slick like gold and gird in moonlight, father of portents and brother to blight', not to mention had 'limbs with talons, eyes like knives', plus were 'the bane to the blameless and the thief of lives', he'd been the obvious choice to leave Gitmo to assess the Cleveland situation. So Fred, Oz, Gunny and Red had all just piled onto the plane with him, and away they went.

And after they'd arrived at Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport, well that was when Xander's troubles had started.

Lockley had informed them all that there had been a rash of murders since the previous night, and several graves robbed. And while Xander knew from Lemke's reports that the Word of Valios had been destroyed by now, it would be the height of folly to underestimate Evil's ingenuity to come up with something else to cover that loss.

And so, within the dance club that the Ohio Hellmouth was located at, Kennedy the vampire Slayer had started kicking demon ass tonight as soon as she'd arrived and all the screaming patrons had vacated the premises. These particular demons were tough, granted, but she was the Chosen One and very skilled at her art.

The problem though was that she and Sam Zabuto were pretty much on their own in this city, apart from the occasional help from their inside woman on the force. They lived alone and they fought alone, as there was no Scooby gang or its equivalent here - no witches, no ensouled vampires, no fashion mavens with hidden depths, and most importantly - no Zeppos.

That was why some of the demons had managed to get past the junior Slayer, and begin the ritual sacrifice of three to bring about the end of the world. But much to their annoyance, the Siberians had shown up in the dance club's basement - with Xander leading the charge.

As Harris fought the Vahrall demon that had failed to knock him out or tear his face off with its claws, Oz suddenly became a lot hairier. And with an animalistic roar, the wolf threw itself at the demonic enemy, mouth foaming and claws extended.

"Don't let them get near the Hellmouth!" Xander screamed over Oz's growls to the other Siberians, and pointing at the hole in the floor.

Gunny and Red brought out their guns, and started to shoot. Unfortunately though these things were bulletproof, and began to tear into the two soldiers both with their natural weapons and whatever else they had on hand.

Luckily Xander had his axe and Oz had his own enhancements, and so Gunny and Red weren't killed. But they were sure as hell out of it for the rest of this fight.

Werewolf Oz roared again as the majority of the Vahralls clustered around him, trying to keep the wolf too busy to interrupt the ritual. Xander had blood dripping down his face from a lucky cut, when he suddenly spied Fred near the basement stairs - just as one of the demons managed to jump into the Hellmouth, and another earthquake started.

"DUCK!" Ms. Burkle shouted, as the ground shook.

Reacting on instinct, Xander hit the deck. A moment later, a deluge of flames blasted through where he'd been standing a moment before, and the two Vahrall demons screamed as they were burned alive.

Spying the flaming corpses, Xander could only mutter, "Wow..." as he quickly noticed Fred had some kind of flamethrower unit on her back. "Oz! Hit the dirt!"

As the werewolf flung one of his opponents away and the quake subsided, he instantly obeyed his friend's orders - and once again, the Texan woman started making demon flambé of all the bad guys in the basement. There were shrieks and hollers and screams of pain, as the Vahrall demons got hit directly in the face with a firestorm.

One of them looked ready to jump into the Hellmouth, before Fred singed him with the flamethrower. Which made it easy for Xander to pierce its back with three inches of solid steel, and the corpse quickly slithered to the floor.

Standing over the dead thing's remains Xander looked around at the rest of the demons, and they stared right back at the Siberian 'exile'. And Harris, it must be said, appeared bloody, mean and more than a little pissed. So without hesitation, the few remaining Vahralls instantly started scrambling for the exit.

After they disappeared upstairs for Kate, Sam and Kennedy to dispatch their asses, Xander just wiped the blood from his face and threw the axe to the floor, checking to make sure Gunny and Red were gonna make it.

Noticing Oz revert back to naked human form and Fred switch off the flamethrower, Harris made his feelings about the situation perfectly clear to his companions.

"Goddamn Hellmouths, they're all the same..."

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. August 5, 2001**

"She had what?" Cleburne said into the phone. He listened for a few seconds. "But how the heck did the woman even get one? Don't tell me she managed to grab one of ours!" he said in exasperation.

The reply was longer this time. "What do you mean, she made her own flamethrower? No, on second thought, don't tell me. I think it's pretty obvious that I *don't* want to know...damn," Cleburne muttered. He shook his head and spoke again. "What about you and Red?"

The Marine colonel took some notes as he listened. "Okay, well, bulletproof demons, we knew we would butt up against some of them one day. I just wish it hadn't been barely a month out from the big day, though! What do the quacks say? You're sure it's not too serious? Good, then I want you back down here by tomorrow morning, you and Red will need to make team selections. Yes, I talked to both Finn and Miller, they're both looking over the list. No, Gunny, I won't let them make their selections until you get back..."

Cleburne looked at the office window. "The kid said what? No, I *don't* want him on one of the teams. Well, tell him I don't want to risk his neck on something like that, not when Howard's still got all those secrets locked away in his head for the next two years. Yeah. Fine, I'm willing to consider Raiden - but the kid, no. What next? The werewolf? Come on, Gunny, we're going to have enough trouble with operational security as it is!"

Joshua sighed, "All right, we'll talk when you get here, but you're not changing my mind. See you in a couple of days," he said as the secret agent hung up the phone.

"She's from Texas, attractive, intelligent and knows how to make a flamethrower. God, if only I was twenty years younger."

 **UC Sunnydale campus, Sunnydale, California. A few hours later**

"Okay, remember people, we have practice tomorrow night as well. The pep rally is on Friday, so see you all tomorrow at four-thirty," Robyn, the cheerleader captain, said to the other cheerleaders. The cheerleading squad started to disperse.

"Buffy, hey, Buffy! Wait up."

The blonde Slayer turned around and saw Robyn and two other college cheerleaders walking towards her. "Hey, just wanted to say you're doing great for someone who joined the team at the last minute," the redheaded Robyn said. "You have prior cheerleader experience, right?"

"Back in high school, yeah. But I only cheered for about a year," Buffy responded vaguely.

"Only that long? What have you done since then to keep your shape up like that?" the brunette with Robyn said, Buffy finally remembering her name was Brenda.

"Oh, uh, a little bit of this and a little bit of that," Buffy replied, again being vague so as to avoid mentioning the whole fighting the undead thing.

The blonde of the trio facing her, the girl named Vicky spoke next. "So, we're going to a club later. Want to come with?"

Buffy hesitated. Tonight was patrol time, after all. "Well, I don't know."

Robyn leaned in and gripped Buffy by the arm. "Come on, you have to. All the other cheerleaders on the squad, they're like kids. College freshmen and whatnot! You just have to hang out with us. We don't need to study, it's still summer vacation!"

Buffy thought for a second. Joyce was with Dawn and she knew Giles would be close by. Willow and Tara were doing their thing. Also, patrolling wasn't that much of a concern. Things had been quiet the last few weeks, what with the long summer lull and all.

"All right, let me change real quick and I'll meet you back here in about half an hour."

 **The Bronze, Sunnydale, California. Later that evening**

"How about him, he's all that!" Vicky said, as she pointed to a young man on the dance floor of the club.

Robyn leaned forward to inspect the subject of Vicky's declaration. "That's Anthony Vinser! He's the boyfriend of that skank, Helen Caldien. He'll do!"

"For what?" Buffy said.

"Tonight's entertainment," Brenda, the brunette said.

Buffy was confused. "What do you mean? That's his girlfriend right there with him..."

Robyn grinned as she reached into her purse. "Watch and learn, Buffy, and you'll see why we're the Queens on campus here..." She pulled out a necklace with a purple pendant attached to it. She put the necklace around her neck, "I call three minutes."

Brenda and Vicky looked at Robyn. "Please, girl, you're not that good. I mean, his girlfriend is standing right there!" Vicky said in exasperation.

"Oh, come on, why would he settle for that frump when he thinks he can have this?" Robyn indicated her body.

Sashaying slightly, the UC Sunnydale cheerleader started walking onto the dance floor. With the same gliding motion that women all over the world used, whenever they wanted men to do whatever they asked. And she was hot enough in her clubbing outfit that more than a few of the men within the Bronze nearly drooled over the cheerleader captain.

She walked up next to Anthony. He suddenly turned from dancing with his girlfriend and stared at Robyn. Robyn said a few words. Anthony responded, and Robyn smiled. And standing nearby, completely ignored and clearly angry, was the coed named Helen.

Buffy watched the events play out on the floor. After about two minutes, Robyn smiled broadly, motioned at Anthony and started walking away. The entranced male instantly started to follow.

But at that point, the furious Helen stepped forward. She grabbed Robyn's arm and turned her around. Robyn just smiled viciously, and backhanded her across the dance floor. Poor old Helen then crashed into a table full of patrons, alcohol spilling all over her dress and ruining it.

Robyn just smiled in satisfaction, and left the club with Anthony in tow.

"Come on!" Brenda said as the she, Buffy and Vicky went out of the club to follow Robyn and her new friend.

{I really don't like what I'm seeing,} Buffy thought to herself, as she hurried. {On account of this little incident reminds me way too much of Xander's stupid love spell fiasco, back in junior year!}

 **Sunnydale, California. Ten minutes later**

Buffy was definitely having a major wiggins now. She had run to catch up with Robyn, but the redhead had already started driving away with Anthony in her sports car. Buffy had thus been forced to climb in with Brenda and Vicky into their vehicle, and after a few minutes they had arrived at Robyn's apartment.

Buffy had stormed in to find Robyn clearly getting...busy with Anthony on the couch. The blonde Slayer could not help noting that Helen's boyfriend (or maybe it was ex-boyfriend, now?) seemed to be a little slack-jawed and unfocused. Well, more so than was normal for a man around a good-looking woman.

"What the hell's going on here?" Buffy demanded, as Brenda and Vicky came through the door, short of breath from trying to catch up.

Robyn smiled, as Anthony started kissing her neck. "Just tonight's entertainment. By the way, girls, two minutes. I set a new record!"

"Girl friend, he must have been drunk. I say we give him a test or something," Vicky said, shaking her head.

Robyn smiled again. "Oh, I intend to test him tonight, that's for sure!" Her hands started moving again, removing Anthony's shirt. "You guys, take a seat and enjoy the show..."

Buffy was all of a sudden angry. {Okay, if this is some kinda witch-y love spell, it ends now! Making a guy cheat on his girlfriend against his will is definitely not just 'tonight's entertainment'!} "Look, I want to know what's going on. This guy is clearly not thinking straight-"

Anthony moaned, and he suddenly kissed Robyn deeply with a lot of tongue. The action continued for a few moments as the cheerleader captain completely went with it, and then the shirtless guy started unbuckling his pants as he climbed on top of the almost-naked redhead...

Before Buffy hauled him off with her Slayer strength. "Okay, Anthony, chill!"

Robyn got an irritated look on her face, now wearing nothing but her white cotton bra and panties. "Hey, Buffy, knock it off! Don't worry, you'll get your turn with him. We don't throw them away until everyone gets a ride, you know."

Buffy just knocked Anthony out to avoid having to deal with a struggling horny male not in his right mind, and he fell like a stone to the floor. She then stepped back, her Slayer radar going off like crazy. Her right hand felt the stake in her waistband as Buffy said, "You guys have got some kind of mojo deal going on here, huh? 'Cause the way you slapped that Helen girl around in the Bronze, that wasn't normal..."

Brenda answered this time. "Of course we're not normal! We're above the poor huddled masses, Buffy. Whatever we want, whenever we see it, we just take it. See, want, take, have," she finished up, unknowingly echoing Faith from the original history.

Buffy maneuvered herself so that she could see all three of her fellow cheerleaders at the same time. "Okay, you guys were standing in daylight just a few hours ago, so I know you're not vampires. Mind telling what are you, then? Some kind of succubus demons?"

The three girls looked at Buffy. "Succubus demons?" Brenda asked in confusion.

"Look, Buffy, we're offering you the keys to the campus here. Become one of the Queens, and you'll end up ruling over all the little people, the sheep," Robyn said, shifting from her position on the couch and briefly staring at the unconscious Anthony. "Here's the deal. We can make people do whatever we want, we have special privileges-"

"Oh my God, but this is like dealing with a bunch of Cordelia clones from her Queen C days! Granted she got better, as she grew up. But you guys have just gotten *worse* as you got older!" Buffy advanced towards Anthony and grabbed his arm. "I'm taking him out of here. Don't try to follow us-"

Robyn stood up, ignoring her semi-nudity. "Summers, you're being an ungrateful little bitch! Don't make me regret inviting you to be a Queen..."

"Sorry. But I guess I just don't enjoy treating people like objects," Buffy snapped back.

"Oh, please!" Brenda harrumphed. "That's what they're there for, to entertain us whenever we want it!"

Buffy frowned, as she had an epiphany. "Gimme the magic necklace, and I'll let you all walk. Best deal you're gonna get," she said firmly.

Robyn rolled her eyes. "You're really starting to bore me..." She suddenly lashed out with her right hand and punched Buffy hard in the face. The Slayer slammed back into the wall with a loud thump. "Huh! You're stronger than you look, that should have knocked you all the way clear through..."

Buffy jumped up and immediately counterattacked with a flurry of punches. Robyn blocked all the blows, however. Nearby, Brenda and Vicky were hurrying out of the way, being impotent observers for the moment.

"You're good," Buffy complimented her opponent.

"And you've been holding back," Robyn said in the same vein. "You can do all that even without the necklace? With skills like those, you'll make a great cheerleader! Last chance if you want to become a Queen..."

"Sorry, but I already have a job. Taking care of demons like you," Buffy retorted.

"What, you think I'm one of those ugly pinhead things that tried to rape me once? Puh-lease!" Robyn said, right before she got a punch through Buffy's defenses.

This one had more power than the earlier blow, and the Chosen One went sailing out of the apartment through a nearby window, the glass shattering all over the floor.

"Now, Anthony, where were we?" Robyn said.

 **Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. August 6, 2001**

"Hold on, hold on!" Giles shouted, as he stumbled towards the front door. In response to the annoying yet persistent pounding that was coming from it, not long after midnight. "What is it?" the former Watcher then said as he opened up.

Buffy rushed in, looking clearly the worse for wear. "Giles, we got ourselves a good old fashioned demon-y thing going on! Time to rustle up the Scooby gang," she declared.

Rupert instantly groaned on the inside. {Bloody hell, I just knew things were going a little too well around here.}

Indeed, his life had been looking up a lot lately. Joyce's therapy was coming along nicely, plus Jonathan had finally returned to town after spending some weeks with his relatives in Washington state and he had been able to distract Andrew with some tale regarding cults and demon worshippers. Which was of the good, even if Anya's boyfriend had recently managed to locate Proserpexa's temple with that ground radar of his.

Luckily the former vengeance demon had blabbed to everyone what that underground building he'd discovered had to be, being very familiar with the she-demon in question, so Giles had been spared trying to come up with a cover story as he'd contacted Sam Zabuto. In order to get a Council team over to Kingman's Bluff to destroy the damned thing, somehow and so potential catastrophe averted.

Granted, he'd had no luck getting anywhere with that Slayer dream having Xander saying "What would Buffy do?" or what kind of demon it was that had recently tried to get Willow to kill herself, but still - all in all, the balance had been in the plus column. Until now.

Focusing, Giles quickly shut the door. "Buffy, what happened?" he asked in concern, taking in her appearance.

"Cheerleaders and a demon-y necklace," Buffy explained with spartan brevity.

"Excuse me?" Giles managed to get out. "I, I think you said something about cheerleaders?"

"I did!" Buffy responded, and she quickly explained the events of the evening.

With a sigh, Giles picked up the telephone. "You know what? I-I-I knew, I just *knew* that nothing good would come of you taking up cheerleading again! Right, I'll call the others," the British man said as he dialed.

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. A couple of hours later**

"Uh, how about this one?" Jonathan asked, holding up a book for Buffy's inspection.

Buffy came over and peered at the drawing of a necklace. "Nope, the stone's all wrong for one. It was kinda dangling down from the main part of the necklace, and this one's attached directly to the chain," she explained.

Scattered all around the Magic Box were the various Scoobies, all looking through the various books that Giles had. Like troopers, apart from Dawn and Joyce they had all answered the call Giles had sent out, and a research party was now in full swing.

"Anything else you can remember which might help us?" Willow asked from the table where she and Tara had a dozen or so books in front of them.

"I'm thinking," Buffy said pensively. "Okay, it was like a really expensive-looking necklace. I mean, not only does it give you some kind of power over men's minds and also Slayer-type abilities, but that pendant was also like something out of Tiffany's - or Van Cleef & Arpels! Say, Giles, why don't I have something like that?"

Giles didn't look up from the book he was looking through. "Because I've never heard of such a thing, for a start. Generally, a-a charmed or enspelled item only has one attribute. Anything more, and the power will soon overload or destroy the talisman."

"Not more than one special thing?" Tara asked.

"Well, it's been tried a few times, but it never ends well for the spellcaster," Giles responded. He suddenly stood up and walked over to Buffy. "Is this it?" Rupert asked as he showed her the page he'd just looked at.

Buffy nodded her head. "Yeah! It's purple in real life color, but from the shape and everything I'd say that's definitely the thing they had. What is it?"

Giles took the book back and read from it. "Good Lord..."

"What?" everyone asked at once. As when Giles said that, it was always important.

"It's, it's the Amulet of Sharppei. It, um, it gives the wearer, who is supposed to be a young woman, the power of suggestibility and control over young men. It was supposedly created for a young princess in the early Middle Ages, who was apparently rather plain in appearance. She then used it for several years until the Catholic Church heard rumors of what she was up to, and, uh, sent their agents to destroy it..."

"Let me see that!" Anya demanded suddenly, and wrenched the book away. Her eyes went wide, "OH! Wait a minute, I know what this is! I heard Hallie ranting about it more than once over the centuries..."

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked at once.

"Well, you have to understand - I was just a silly young thing then, barely 300 years old or so. And that stupid little girl inadvertently summoned me, just 'cause she couldn't get a date within the sighted community! I explained the rules to her, she's gotta wish it and I gotta dish it. But all she wanted was to get laid, not for me to kill or eviscerate anybody!"

"So what happened after that?" Willow asked, looking a little ill from the mention of Anyanka time.

"Oh, well, my friend Halfrek dropped in, there was a big gathering scheduled soon not far from there - and somehow, Hallie must have lost the Amulet while she was there. That simpering moron must have found it, and used it for her own desires! Yeah, I later heard something about her being burned at the stake, so I guess being royalty didn't protect her, but there was no mention of what happened to the pendant afterwards. Still, I guess now we know!" Anya finished up.

"Right. But hey, when did it get all the Slayer-level power put into it?" Buffy wanted to know. "'Cause something like that's muscling in on my territory! I mean, okay, if we were talkin' good guys, I'd welcome the help. But it looks like those three aren't all that much into helping anyone apart from themselves, and more interested in pounding on me," she announced.

"With great power comes great responsibility. I mean, everyone knows that," Andrew intoned solemnly.

The others ignored him. "To be honest, all this makes me rather worried. I mean, what's to stop this from happening again en masse, and we'd suddenly have an army of college girls with Slayer strength out there? The consequences could be...well, I'd prefer not to even think about that, I have to say," Giles said.

"Where do you suppose Robyn and the others got it from?" Jonathan asked.

"No idea. And they don't strike me as someone who could make a huge splash in the world of magic with their level of smarts, or any other world for that matter," Buffy replied. "They probably just stole it and had someone else amp up the power level for them."

"Well, we need to find out who as soon as possible. Any ideas on how we get the information from them?" Giles asked.

"I've been thinking about that," Buffy stated.

"Buffy, they're human. You can't just beat it out of them," Willow said suddenly.

"Yeah, as much as I'd like to do that, I know I can't. But I do have another plan," was Buffy's response.

 **Sunnydale, California. Very early in the morning**

Anthony Vinser woke up feeling groggy and confused. And the first thing he noticed was the smell.

It was the smell of dried sweat, and that distinct aroma arising after human bodies have repeatedly had sexual intercourse. They were very thick in the air, but underneath he could smell women's perfume as well. So the man started to look around, when he suddenly noticed that he was laying on the floor of a strange apartment.

Completely nude.

And there were three other naked women on the carpet with him, a thin blanket covering them but not himself.

{Christ almighty} the college boy thought, his mind in a daze. {What the hell happened last night?}

The memories began to come back, slowly. Being with his girlfriend in the Bronze, dancing with Helen and having a great time - when suddenly...

Well, that was where it started getting confusing. A red-haired woman had come up to them and said something, he couldn't remember what - and yet he hadn't been able to look away. Anthony *had* noticed Helen getting pissed, but still he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the redheaded goddess who had beckoned him to come with her.

{Oh my God, Helen. Anthony thought to himself in a panic. {How the hell do I explain all that to her?}

More memories came back then, as Anthony instantly began to get even more freaked. The car ride, entering the apartment, the undeniable feelings of lust and desire, and then...and then.

"Good morning, lover."

Anthony jerked upright, noticing one of the women - the redhead - had woken up, and was staring at him. "Uh."

Red just smiled at him, and got out from under the blanket. Anthony's eyes were instantly diverted to the other two women, the sleeping brunette and the blonde, in an effort to retain some semblance of modesty at the sight of her nakedness.

"Oh, don't worry about them for now. I swear, Vicky and Brenda won't wake up for hours yet! You really wore them out last night, stud. That's quite a motor you've got under the hood there," the cheerleader smirked.

Anthony was somehow both flattered and horrified, as even though this was apparently a real-life version of a letter to Penthouse - if he'd been wondering how the hell to explain himself to Helen before, it was obviously going to be impossible to come out of that discussion now with his nuts intact. "Um, thanks. Uh, last night...w-wasn't there a fourth girl in here-?"

"You mean Buffy? She was just a crasher who we kicked out, after she knocked you out. Hey, Anthony, where are you going?" Robyn asked, as the man got up and looked for his clothes.

"Look, I'm sorry - but I, I have no idea what happened last night, why I...I'm sorry, I don't remember your name?" the poor guy stammered.

"It's Robyn St. Clair!" the woman looked annoyed, as Anthony gulped.

"Yeah, um...look, Robyn? I'm - well, I have a girlfriend-" he started to stammer.

"So what are you saying? That last night was just a one night stand?" Robyn started hamming it up, privately enjoying her performance as the injured party in this little drama.

"No, I..." Anthony looked lost for words. "Well, actually..."

Suddenly, Robyn got bored with the game. She picked the Amulet of Sharppei up off the floor where it had been discarded after they'd all fallen asleep, and put it around her neck. And staring at it, Mr. Vinser was instantly in her thrall once again.

Thus, it wasn't long before the screams of ecstasy and passion were heard coming from Robyn's bedroom...

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

"This was your plan, breaking into their dorm room?" Willow said to the Chosen One in disbelief, as she opened the door to Brenda's quarters.

"Well, I didn't say it was an original plan," Buffy replied. "Besides - Jonathan, where did you learn to pick locks?"

The short nerd looked embarrassed, as he quickly closed the door behind him. "Well, promise you won't get mad?" he asked in that distinct nasal voice.

"Look around for something about spellcasting. And Jonathan, I promise not to shout at you," Buffy said. The trio started quietly going through the room, looking for leads or evidence. "So?"

"Well, back in our last year of high school, I spent some time with Faith."

"Jonathan!"

"You said you wouldn't yell!" Levinson protested.

"I didn't, that was Willow," Buffy replied as she opened the desk drawer. "And I'm not shouting, but you and Faith?"

Jonathan was looking on the dresser. "Like I've said before, I kinda spent some time with her and Xander the early part of the year. Ah, Buffy, would ya mind if I looked in the desk? I'm kinda uncomfortable going through..." He motioned at the drawers with Brenda's clothes in them.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I *would* have to get stuck with the one college guy who doesn't want to rifle through the underwear drawers of a cheerleader!" Quickly, she and Jonathan switched their respective targets.

"Sorry, it just feels like something I shouldn't do," the geek explained. He then pulled out a photo album from the desk drawer. "Hang on, I think I found something!"

"What?" Willow asked from where she was looking through the closet.

"Looks like that Brenda girl kept mementos of their, uh, entertainment," Jonathan explained as he flipped through the pages and looked at the photos. They were pictures of Brenda having sex with various men, and Levinson's eyes widened at some of the images he saw. "Girls can actually do that?" the male virgin asked in disbelief.

Buffy came over and looked over his shoulder. "Damn," she muttered.

"What?" Willow asked again, as she finally joined the duo.

"Parker. He was one of their victims," Buffy said with a strange look on her face.

Willow almost laughed out loud, but stopped herself in time. "Just desserts, if you ask me."

"Got to admit, I'm feeling kinda torn about it," Buffy said, thinking about the Xander semi-lookalike she'd once slept with. {Hmm, wonder what he's up to these days? And Jeff as well, it's been ages since I've thought about either of them!}

"Well, from what I heard? Abrams deserved whatever those girls did to him," Jonathan made his opinion clear.

"And the other guys whose photos are in there?" Buffy remarked.

"Guess they didn't," Jonathan shrugged. "You know, they can't be all that bright...Brenda and the others, I mean, since she kept incriminating pictures of what they did. And leaving them right out here in the open like this? It's almost too easy," he finished up.

"So what do we do now?" Willow wanted to know.

Suddenly, Buffy began to get the glimmerings of a plan. "Jonathan, just how much time did you spend around Faith?"

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. August 7, 2001**

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Irving, happy birthday to you!" the crowd sang, as the young boy blushed upon the occasion of this, his 13th birthday.

"Three cheers for the Wizard. Hip, hip?" Xander called out.

"Hooray!" the partygoers called out.

"Come on, people, louder! Hip, hip?"

"HooRAY!" the voices were louder this time.

"Come *on*, this is a very special occasion. One last time! Hip, hip?"

"HOOOORAAAY!" the loud cacophony of voices echoed through the converted mess hall, as the Siberians vented their good wishes and Irving Hollins again blushed, totally unused to such an occurrence.

The thing was that Xander, knowing how this was the orphan boy's entry into the world of being a teenager, had become determined to make it a memorable event for him. And as the former Scooby watched Irving cutting the cake and getting birthday kisses from all the female Siberians, Harris briefly marveled at how quickly the time had passed; from when he had first met the child genius in Urbana, last year.

Not long after he had wished the boy a personal happy birthday and moved aside for the next person in line to do so, Xander was joined by Fred. The Texan woman smiled at her crush, "This was a good idea, I have to say! Lots of good feelings all around, and it's probably doing everyone's morale a whole world of good too..."

"Well, I kinda figured that since the Whiz isn't someone named Buffy Summers, it couldn't hurt to have a party like this. And hey, if I'm still around in three years time? Irving's 16th birthday party is gonna completely leave this one behind in its dust! I'm thinking for starters, a pair of strippers..."

"You wouldn't!" Fred gaped at Harris in surprise and dismay.

Xander smirked. "Hey, what do you think *I* wished for after I turned fifteen?"

The physicist just smacked the Timetripper on the arm. "Sometimes, you can be such a...a goof!"

"I am ze ultimate proof of goof, leetle miss cat on a hot tin roof," Xander drawled in a lousy French accent.

Fred laughed, before she started chasing Xander around the hall. "Don't get me mad, I *do* have a flamethrower now y'know!"

Oz just watched their little display calmly, wondering what was eventually going to happen with those two. As far as the werewolf knew, Xander harbored no romantic intentions towards the Burkle woman despite her obvious feelings for him - but then again, he'd never even been able to pick up on the fact that Willow was secretly gay, so maybe his judgment wasn't the best in these matters.

Suddenly, Oz was joined by Cleburne. "Been a while since we've had this sort of shindig," the Marine commented acerbically.

"Fred was right though, it's good for morale," the younger man commented.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, you want some cake? I'm gonna just grab some for myself," Joshua offered as he started to move off.

"Hang on a sec. Thinkin' we need to talk."

Now this intrigued Cleburne, as Daniel almost defined the term 'stoic silent type'. "About what, Wolfie?"

"The Wizard," Oz inclined his head over towards Irving, who was currently talking with Bethany Chaulk.

The colonel's guard instantly went up. "What about him?"

Oz took a deep breath. He always did that these days, before he spoke more than a sentence or two at a time. "He's not a child anymore, you know. Thirteen's a special age, which I gather is why things like the bar mitzvah were ever invented in the first place. This is the point where you need to start thinking long-term about what's best for Irving as a human being. Which isn't necessarily the same as what's best for Siberian Trip Wire, unfortunately."

Cleburne raised an eyebrow at the comments. "Mind explaining that to me again?"

Oz paused. "Look at him. I mean, *really* look at him. Because in case you haven't realized it - Irving's hit puberty nowadays, Cleburne, I can smell it. I can also smell how interested he is at the moment in Miss Chaulk over there, not to mention the fact that he's also started sniffing around Fred as well. Bottom line, Irving needs to learn how to deal with that sort of thing."

Cleburne was flabbergasted as Oz went on, "Otherwise, it's gonna be...bad. Think in terms of a wild animal raised alone in captivity, and then released into the jungle. It doesn't know what to do, how to act. Irving's life could be like that, if you're not careful. The years will pass quicker than you think - and how's he supposed to grow up one day, get married and have children and all that, if he's always stuck in the same sort of cage he's in now?"

Joshua honestly wasn't sure how to respond. "I think that's *got* to be the longest speech I've ever heard you make," he finally replied.

Oz rubbed his throat, which felt rather sore. "Not planning to make a habit out of it."

Cleburne adjusted his stance a little, both mentally and physically. "Look, I get what you're saying. Really, I do! But there are other factors at stake here, pal. And sometimes, sacrifices have to be made-"

"When someone knows the score and volunteers for them. Not when someone never even gets given the option," Oz interrupted firmly.

Joshua sighed. This was one extra headache he did *not* need right now. "Look, maybe after September 11 we can discuss this again, but not now, okay?"

"Problem with that is there's always going to be one crisis or another to deal with, that's just the way STW's wired together. So I guess it all comes down to what kind of a man you really are, Colonel Cleburne. Whether or not you believe utilizing someone's services for the state outweighs the personal needs of the individual in question," Oz remarked a little too calmly.

That one hit home and rankled deeply, reminding Joshua of the lessons imparted from his Marine instructors - during the era decades ago when communism and the Red Peril had been the fixation of those in the West. "And just how did you come to all these conclusions?" he growled out.

Oz just shrugged. "Even the Wizard needs to talk to someone on occasion. You're over forty, Fred and Xander are in their mid-twenties, and Bethany isn't an option - given Irving's feelings. Basically I'm the closest thing Hollins has to a guy his own age, I was just a teenager myself till a few years ago. So, I hear things in between official business, and I can put two and two together."

The werewolf just shrugged. "Anyway, I hope you think about what I said. Otherwise, things could get kinda dicey in the future. Especially what with the way Irving has started thinking about girls, while he's in the shower."

"Okay, ya know what? TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" Cleburne growled out, really wishing he hadn't just received that particular visual.

"Why else do you think he plays so much tennis with her?" Oz said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I know she's a good player, but I think how she looks in a tennis dress is the main attraction for Irving."

 **Cleburne's office. Later that night**

Joshua Cleburne leaned back in his chair, with the phone wedged against his ear. He waited patiently for the other end to pick up.

"Dad, it's Josh here. No, everything's all right. I just need to ask you something." Cleburne paused before going on. "Look, I know that I and the brothers were a handful, and I don't know how you managed to cope sometimes."

Cleburne listened for a few seconds. "Yeah, Dad, I know I really tried your patience that time I ran off to Tennessee with the gridiron team! That's why I suspect you're going to love this, and think of it as your best revenge possible."

Cleburne took a deep breath. "Well, I need your advice. Namely, how to handle a boy who's just hit puberty. What do I do with a 13-year-old kid who's just discovering girls?"

Cleburne held the phone away from his ear at once, as the sound of raucous laughter echoed in the office.

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. August 8, 2001**

Buffy looked out over the campus common area. Students milled about, doing all the things college students did while on summer vacation. Buffy's attention though was focused on the table with Robyn's gang sitting at it.

The 'cheer trio', as Andrew had taken to calling them, were holding court. They were a painful yet nostalgic reminder of how things had been in high school, the only difference being nowadays they could all drink legally. Buffy shook her head, {I can't believe now I used to be exactly like that, back at Hemery. And God, if I hadn't ever been called to be the Slayer, I don't like to wonder if I'd be one of Robyn's minions right now.}

Buffy focused and looked for the other Scoobies. She had gone over the plan with them more than once. It was of necessity a different plan from the normal Slayer 'me see, me quip, me hit on head till dead' plan. And Buffy suspected that Joyce would be happy about that, when she learned the score, as her mother had been urging her to try different methods in her fight against evil.

Worrying that her baby girl was going to get killed in the line of duty one of these days, as the oldest Summers woman was wont to do. Of course, the current strategy may have also had something to do with Buffy watching the Mission Impossible movies during the summer...

Buffy, once satisfied that everyone was in place, started down from the library balcony to the common area. She mentally prepared herself as she approached the table.

"What do you want, you ungrateful bitch?" Robyn snapped as she watched Buffy walk up to the group.

"You've got to stop," Buffy declared simply.

Brenda laughed out loud at that. "You have *got* to be kidding. We kicked your skanky ass all over the room the other night!"

Buffy raised her right eyebrow at as she folded her arms. "We? We? There was no 'we' about it, as I recall. Robyn had the necklace. You and Vicky were just wall decorations in bad clothes, and lousy hair."

"Hey!" Vicky complained. "I paid top dollar for that outfit! And Antonio gives a girl a great 'do!"

Buffy ignored her and spoke again. "And by the way, I think without the fancy necklace Robyn isn't exactly all that special either."

The St. Clair woman smiled at Buffy in a feral way, as her hand made its way to her purse on the table. "Care to try again? I don't mind bruising your bony ass a second time."

"Bony? Please, if that's the best insult you can toss my way, you need to take lessons from Cordelia Chase!" Buffy replied.

"Cordelia Chase? Oh yeah, I asked around about that wannabe after you mentioned her name before. And apparently that little tramp quickly ran out of town with her tail between her legs, after she got all poor and everything," Robyn said as she slowly put her hand in her purse.

"Look," Buffy said, annoyed at the insults to a friend. Or sort of a friend, anyway. "You three need to stop, and this is your final warning," Buffy said. "I'll be watching you." Suddenly the Slayer turned around and walked away.

Robyn looked at her two flunkies. "Well, maybe she isn't as blonde as she looks after all."

"Hey!" Vicky complained.

"Oh please, you know what I mean," Robyn said. "Dye blonde. And you're a natural blonde, aren't you?"

"Yes, and proud of it!" Vicky hurriedly agreed.

"Well, now that the freak is taken care of…hey, your purse!" Brenda blurted out.

Robyn turned and looked that her purse was now on the ground and moving away, as if under its own power. It was picking up speed and getting further and further away from the table.

"Hey! Stop!" Robyn shouted as she took off in pursuit, with Brenda and Vicky close behind.

The various students in the commons watched the scene of the three cheerleaders chasing a purse as it whirled along the ground. Several of them laughed openly at the trio, and were rewarded with a scowl from Robyn before she turned her attention back to the purse.

The purse then went through a cluster of students. The three cheerleaders barreled through it, knocking the students down.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" a male student yelled.

"Loser!" Robyn said semi-absently to Jonathan Levinson, as she hurried on.

The purse continued on its way, actually leaping over a table as it did so. The students eating lunch there all leaned back in shock. And Robyn only just managed to stop herself before she ran into the table.

Brenda suddenly leaped forward and grabbed the purse. "Got it!" she shouted in triumph.

Robyn rushed forward and took the purse from her. "Give it here. That horse's ass Buffy must have done something." she said as she rifled through the purse. "It's gone! Where did it go?"

The three cheerleaders looked around wide-eyed for the necklace. "There!" Vicky shouted out. "The dwarf!" She pointed at Jonathan as he fled from the commons.

The three beauties took off in pursuit, heedlessly pushing people out of their way as they did so. Jonathan looked over his shoulder, and upon seeing his pursuers his eyes widened and he picked up the pace.

"You are *so* dead!" Robyn cried out viciously, as she got closer to Jonathan. The target of their hatred made his way through a doorway into a classroom building.

"Where did he go?" Brenda asked, as they rushed through the door a few seconds later.

"There!" Vicky said, as the male Scooby ran into a classroom.

The three ran in after him. But then they stopped when they saw Anya sitting on the floor in the middle of a chalk circle with herbs sprinkled around, chanting loudly. The former vengeance demon threw down some dust, and then a small explosion resulted.

Followed almost immediately by a boom with a loud cloud of smoke. "Behold Halfrek of Arash ma'har, the righter of wrongs and bringer of justice! I have been called, and vengeance shall I wreak!" a mottled and vein-y faced demon woman said in a deep voice as she appeared from the smoke, wearing a long cape over a purple blouse and grey pants.

"Hallie!" Anya said as she stood up.

The subject of her greeting looked at the source of it. "Anyanka!" she said joyfully, her voice becoming human. "Oh my God, it's been forever. How have you been?" She rushed to hug Anya.

"Very profitable, of course," the human woman replied as she hugged her friend. "My business and capital venture is most rewarding."

"Oh! I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to your party a while back, but I heard that Monique got pissed off enough to leave that kind of thing early for once?" Halfrek inquired.

"Yeah," Anya grinned for a moment, before she frowned. "God, I miss not having my powers! If I could just liquefy her entrails..."

"What the hell?" Robyn said in disbelief. And that drew Halfrek's attention.

"Anyanka, what's going on here?" Hallie asked. "Why'd you summon me?"

"Well, Hallie, it's like this. Remember the Amulet of Sharppei? Oh, do you mind-? Someone might walk in."

"What? Oh, yes," Hallie said absently, as her face turned human. "Now, what's this about the Amulet?"

"We found it. Jonathan, give it to her," And the geek instantly did as she ordered.

"Hey, that's mine!" Robyn yelled, coming forward as Halfrek finally got her property back.

The vengeance demon turned and glared at the cheerleader. "Yours? Yours? I don't think so, little girl. I made it, and it was stolen from me a long time ago. Finders keepers does not apply here!"

"Are you going to let her talk to you that way?" Brenda whispered to Robyn.

Ms. St. Clair seemingly found her courage now that Halfrek appeared to be human. "Stolen from you? Please. I got it fair and square from that pinhead would-be rapist. I earned it after what happened that night, so hand it over before I call the cops!"

Halfrek looked at the redhead. "Just who are you?"

Anya moved next to Halfrek. "She's the one who's been using the amulet lately. And you want to know how she's been using the Amulet?"

"Oh please, don't tell me she's been using it because she thinks she's really that ugly?" Halfrek asked in an exasperated tone.

"Hey!" Robyn shouted.

"Worse than that. She's been stealing men from their girlfriends using its influence, making them cheat," Anya explained.

"Wronged women?" Halfrek asked, intrigued. Even if her specialty was wronged children, given all of Hallie's 'Daddy issues'.

"Yeah. And like I said, I really miss my powers sometimes!" Anya spat out.

"There they are," Buffy said, as she entered the room followed by Helen Caldien. "Yeah, these three, they did something to Anthony during the weekend..."

"Bitches," Helen instantly snarled at the trio, remembering Robyn's face intimately.

"So do something about it, you social reject! Maybe he wanted to be with a real woman for once?" Vicky snarled back.

"Hallie, since I can't, if you wouldn't mind...?" Anya started.

The demoness thought about it for a second. And in the end, she doubted D'hoffryn would mind all that much. "Okay! For old times sake," Hallie agreed.

"Good! Now, I suggest let's try for something subtle," Anya responded.

Helen started talking again, not understanding the context of the conversation but not caring much either. "Buffy's right, I wish you three *harlots* would get what's coming to you. Let the punishment fit the crime and all that!"

"Done!" Halfrek said, as she morphed into demon face and snapped her fingers.

"What?" Helen said in shock, not sure if she was seeing things as Halfrek resumed human form. "What just?"

"Don't worry," Buffy said rapidly. "I'll explain later."

"What, are we supposed to be scared of your little makeup job?" Robyn then asked in a catty tone.

Hallie just smiled. "Wait for it."

Suddenly the door opened and a girl ran in. "There you are! Brenda, the police are searching your room, they're looking for some blackmail pictures or something. They said they've got statements from guys you drugged at nightclubs, or whatever! What the hell's going on?"

Brenda looked horrified. "Oh no, the photo album!" She then ran out, joining the messenger.

"Don't tell me you just left that thing in your room?" Vicky yelled in disgust. "Idiot."

"You're the idiot, little girl," Halfrek shot back. "Best of luck on getting the doctors to be able to treat that syphilis you seem to have suddenly developed!"

The blonde cheerleader gasped, and checked herself out for the telltale rash before screaming and heading for the campus infirmary.

Robyn appeared to be much less sure of herself than she'd been ten seconds ago. "What?" Then she gave up and entered the real world, facing Halfrek head-on. "All right, let's hear it. What did your evil ass decide to do to me? Because I'm a lot tougher than those two morons, trust me! I'm not gonna run off screaming."

"I know," Halfrek decided to get into character. "And for the record, I did nothing to you."

"WHAT?" everyone else demanded, Anya's voice being the loudest.

"Okay, technically that may not be entirely true, but I did nothing to her she hadn't already done to herself," the female demon qualified her earlier statement.

"What do you mean?" Buffy demanded. As all this wasn't exactly turning out like she'd hoped.

Like Xander had written in one of his letters to Giles, wisdom only comes from time or learning from your mistakes. And in this world, the Scooby gang had never encountered a vampire version of Willow Rosenberg from an alternate timeline; as Anya's last Wish had left no traces of it ever having existed, save for a mortal Ms. Jenkins. And she of course had a somewhat biased view of what that had been like, losing her demon-hood that way.

And if Xander had been there, he could have told the blonde Slayer that vengeance demons talked a good game about making things better, but the fact was that they were evil creatures whose powers were a gift from the hellish lower beings. Thus, using those powers poisoned everything they touched, to a greater or lesser degree.

"What do I mean?" Halfrek said in response to Buffy's question. "She's pregnant."

"WHAT?!" everyone again demanded, this time Robyn's voice being the loudest.

"It's true. Conceptus took place less than 48 hours ago, I can smell it," Halfrek said with an evil smile. "The man you made cheat on his girlfriend, you let him sire a child on you."

"That's impossible! We used a condom..." Robyn said indignantly as Helen looked at her in disbelief.

"Oh, for Yekk's sake, what is wrong with the women like you today? Everyone knows how ordinary condoms are not completely reliable!" Anya suddenly exploded. "Why else do you think I use a specially enchanted one? Women who aren't ready to create life with whatever idiot male they choose to have sex with, they *have* to have one of that kind!"

Robyn started to back away as Halfrek called out, "Which brings us to the Wish, of course. If your own personal lust was your reward for using my Amulet, then I decided that your lust should also be your punishment! In other words, you won't be able to get an abortion; trust me, no matter where you go or what you try, you'll have to carry that unborn child to term."

"No..." Robyn began to look sick.

"Oh, yes. I imagine you're already feeling a little bit of morning sickness right now? And I also imagine your busy social calendar is about to clear up for the next nine months or so. You'll be all bloated before too long," Halfrek promised the reluctant mother-to-be.

"What?" Buffy said in shock. {Okay, hold on now, *this* wasn't part of the plan!}

"I don't understand," Helen said in confusion. {Wishes? Enchanted condoms? And she can *smell* someone having fallen pregnant?} "What's really going on here? Who, who are you people?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Anya responded vigorously. "Look, all you need to know is as a wronged woman, you've gotten one *doozy* of a vengeance on the three females who stole your boyfriend that night!"

Helen shook her head, trying to focus. "Right. Uh, so...what do I do now?"

"What do you want to do?" Jonathan asked, speaking up for the first time.

"I..." Helen hesitated. "I'm not sure. Anthony...where is he at the moment?"

"About to enter the realm of fatherhood," Halfrek chortled with glee, anticipating some quality vengeance from the fruit of his loins in about five or ten years time.

Helen's eyes went wide, as the implications of that notion fully sunk into her brain. Anya noticed and said in a reasonable voice, "Whether you take him back or not, that's up to you. But let's be honest - you'll never be able to fully trust him again after what's happened, will you? Not to mention the fact that if he's even a halfway decent specimen of the breed, your boyfriend's now going to be involved in raising an illegitimate child with the woman who seduced him away from you. So, you really want to constantly keep running into this...this wanton hussy for the next 18 years? I wouldn't if I were you!"

Again Helen hesitated. {She's got a point. Maybe, maybe it'd be better just to make a clean break of it now and find someone else. I still care about him a lot, but Anthony sounds like he's going to have his hands full for a very long time to come.} Thus, Ms. Caldien just silently filed out of the classroom.

"Hey! Wait up." Buffy said. However, Halfrek and Anya ignored her.

"Leave," Halfrek then commanded the now-freaked redheaded woman, who was sure she was trapped in a nightmare. "And keep this in mind; I *will* be watching you. My specialty is wronged children. You do anything bad to your child, I'll show up again - and the next time, I won't be as soft on you as I'm being now."

The soon-to-be former cheerleader just turned around and ran out as well, as Halfrek watched her go in great self-satisfaction. Then she frowned; the vengeance demon knew that a baby often created a powerful bond between two people, and there was a chance that Robyn would sink her claws into Anthony now to try to bring about that 'happily ever after' thing that just about every mortal craved.

{But what are the odds of that happening in *this* situation? Besides, this is the Hellmouth I'm standing on. And that always brings out the worst in *everyone*.}

Buffy just looked concerned and annoyed. {Okay, that's it. This is the last time I ever do something like this! From now on, if I have a problem - I'll solve it by sticking to good old-fashioned Slayer methods that I know work. Namely, beating 'em up or hitting 'em with very sharp objects! }

All of a sudden, Andrew walked into the room. "Hi. Uh, sorry I'm late - what'd I miss?"

Halfrek looked to her old friend. "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is my mortal boyfriend, Andrew Wells. Andy, this is my oldest friend named Halfrek," Anya introduced them a bit too casually.

"Um, hello," Andrew said somewhat awkwardly, briefly looking aside at Anya in annoyance for using that hated nickname.

"Hi," Hallie replied. She looked him over carefully, {Hmm, now this doesn't feel right. The prophecy said the 'one who sees' would be cursed with the love for Anyanka, and he doesn't appear to be anything like that at all! } "So, have you been dating my friend long?"

"Yeah, uh, I guess. Ever since last year," Andrew was obviously getting a very wiggy vibe from the demoness, and wondering why he'd never met her before.

"Right. Actually, I mustn't dawdle; there are plenty of abused children in this world who need my services! Anyanka, thanks again for returning my Amulet. We'll have to meet up again for lunch one day! Well, goodbye all!" With that, Halfrek snapped her fingers and vanished in a burst of light.

Jonathan frowned, as he turned to look at Buffy. "So...we won, right? Those three cheerleaders are, are kinda neutralized, a-and the Amulet's gone. Everything worked out okay in the end?"

"Yeah. I guess," Buffy frowned, wishing she could sound more certain of that. But deep down she suspected that somehow, someday, her recent decisions and actions would eventually come back to haunt them all.

 **Inglewood, California. A while later**

Monsignor Randall Bentallo waited as calmly as he could, as the hour of the meeting approached.

He had been a busy man in recent months. The special representative of the Holy See had been searching for the Spear of Destiny, but had had no success ever since Vienna and all the subsequent places he'd looked had turned out to be a bust. But two days ago, Bentallo had been informed by one of his contacts that there was a private collector here in California who potentially had the real deal. Or information that would lead to where the true Spear of Destiny was hidden, anyway.

The Catholic official had thus rushed over here as fast as he could, of course. In fact, he'd even arrived with a bit of extra time to kill, so Randall had spent most of it getting a brief personal glimpse of the people Mr. Howard knew in Los Angeles.

It had been rather enlightening, to say the least. He had observed them all from a distance: Cordelia, Gwen, Wesley, and Gunn had all proven interesting in what they did and how they lived their lives. After all - an actress, a thief, a Watcher (by any other name) and a street fighter could not help but *be* interesting under any circumstances.

Bentallo's fascination though was with the ensouled vampire, Angel.

As far as he knew, only one other demon had ever been cursed with a soul this way, but that female specimen had disappeared months ago and was still adapting to its new status. Angel however - or Angelus, if you wanted to call him that - had had a human soul for well over a century, and was the original subject of such a gypsy curse.

It troubled the holy man greatly to think of what had been carried out in that regard, however. Both recently, and over 100 years ago. { The original spellcasters, why didn't those people consider all the possible consequences of their actions back then despite their mad frenzy for vengeance? Punishing a vampire by restoring its human soul...you cannot simply requisition the property of God that way without paying a heavy price for it! I suppose it's not exactly surprising that later, the Lord allowed their enemies to smite them all down that way. I can only hope that history does not repeat itself with these people, in the days to come! }

Bentallo checked his watch, and looked around at the other occupants of the car. "It's time," he announced, as the special agent of the Vatican unbuckled his seat belt and started to make his way out of the vehicle.

"Monsignor, I really don't like this. For your own safety, I must again ask you to reconsider going in there alone," one of the others present insisted.

"You already know the answer to that, my son. The terms of the meeting were quite specific; only I am permitted to meet with the collector, if anyone else attempts to join us the interview will be immediately cancelled. And all details regarding the Spear withheld forever afterwards. The risks are, I think, justified. So thank you for your concern, but I must insist that this be the end of the matter."

"Yes, Messér." The chief aide who had voiced concern lowered his head in reluctant acceptance. Brother Francis still didn't like it, as the meeting place and its occupants were a virtual unknown and he was charged with the sacred duty of keeping his boss safe at all times.

But the man's hands were tied, as Bentallo got out of the limousine and made his way to the residence in question.

Fortunately, the seer known only as Thomas Aquinas was under no such restrictions.

As a young monk he had been given that identity by the pope of the time, and it had truly been a great honor to be named after the visionary and saint from so long ago. In essence, Thomas's psychic abilities had been recognized by the prelates and cardinals back then and he had been introduced to His Holiness. His vocation had subsequently prospered, and he had eventually even been allowed access to the Vatican library, when *it* had happened.

The Fourth of July, 1980. A mindless drunken celebration on another continent. And for an instant, in those hallowed halls Thomas Aquinas had felt the full fury of the First Evil's savage howl from 2003, echoing throughout the space-time continuum. The same moment during which the conception of Alexander Lavelle Harris had occurred in the undeserving womb of his mother, Jessica.

That moment had changed Thomas's life forever. He hadn't truly understood what the message had meant, granted; only the mad vampiress known as Drusilla had the ability to do that, 18 years hence. But less than a year later, when Willow Rosenberg had likewise been conceived amongst the Hebrew people, the psychic had known what path his life would eventually take.

That was why he was here today. And just as Monsignor Bentallo was about to go through the front gates, he was hurled to the ground by the middle-aged seer in a running tackle.

Just before the apartment building exploded.

Reminiscent of the many explosions that had recently taken out the Order of Taraka, the heat and flames of the fireball were overwhelming. They nearly scorched the Catholic official, but fortunately Bentallo was protected from both them and the lethal shrapnel by Thomas's body. Eyes bulging out at being drenched by the other man's blood, Randall twisted madly to remove the dead weight of the seer. He briefly stopped in dismayed horror when he saw the corpse's clerical collar, { Who-? What, what in the name of God just... }

But there was no more time for semi-incoherent thought. With incredible speed, two of Bentallo's aides arrived on the scene, yanking their superior up and away. Without waiting for permission, they quickly half-dragged half-carried Randall back to the limousine. The two men subsequently threw the Monsignor inside and Brother Francis barked to the driver, "Get us out of here, *now*!"

The limo took off as ordered but relatively slowly, traveling beneath the speed limit so as not to arouse notice from the cops and fire brigade, who even now were being dispatched to the scene. And not far away, the sight made one man in particular really mad.

A man tainted of and by the First Evil, the enemy of Xander Harris known as Caleb.

Enraged at the failure of his little trap, the chief minion of the First was currently having a bit of a temper tantrum. Actually, the room he was in was getting completely trashed: furniture and appliances wrecked and smashed, the works.

"Knock it off, will ya? This is getting...well, 'embarrassing' is one word that comes to mind."

Instantly the former priest ceased his activities, looking around to look at his companion. "Watch what y'all say now," Caleb said in his Southern accent. "Because I think I have a right to my anger, don't you? I mean that was a heckuva lot of planning and work, which in the end was all for nothing!"

Buffy/the First rolled her eyes. "So your old friend the Monsignor is still alive. Isn't that just like a guy, though? Things don't go your way, you all develop that 'kick the dog' mindset!"

Caleb looked mad again. "Well, begging your pardon for takin' some pride in my work. But you said it yourself, we can't allow that meddling insect to find that weapon he's lookin' for, right?"

The First morphed into Faith's form. "True. True. But relax, there's still plenty of opportunities left to accomplish that part of it, so calm down already."

Caleb shook his head. "I am calmed down. You should see me when I'm ornery!"

Faith/the First morphed into the features of Rachael Weitz. "Oy vey, are we gonna have to have that discussion again? Speaking of which, it has been some time since we last..." She/it looked at him seductively, "...merged. I'm guessing, your strength isn't what it could be?"

Caleb looked out the window at the raging fire not far away, and eventually nodded. "You're right. Okay, let's do it."

Rachael/the First instantly assumed the features of Joyce Summers. "Really, Caleb. You need to work on your social skills! 'Let's do it.' No flowers, dinner or even the offer of a movie?" She/it rolled her/its eyes again. "You really know how to romance a girl!"

Caleb's features turned ugly at the sight of the middle-aged woman. "Never seen no need to romance any girl. On account of they're all dirty; goes all the way back to Eve, she was foulness itself on being made from Adam's dirty rib that way. All men and women, in fact, they're filled with filth and despair, and why? Because they've yet to meet you. For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever. Amen!"

The First Evil smiled behind its false face at the praise from its human right arm. And suddenly it changed into its true, deformed, transparent form; a huge demonic creature, with two horns on its head and glowing red eyes. Not to mention carnivorous teeth...just like Willow had glimpsed, not so long ago.

"I am thy humble servant," the ex-minister said, preparing himself for the experience.

The First's energy contracted into a ball of light and quickly entered Caleb, blasting through his physical form and causing him to fall to the ground. When the man finally got up again, his eyes were black and he said in a deep and inhuman voice, "And now, I'm ready to serve thee."

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. August 9, 2001**

Joshua Cleburne leaned back in his chair, thinking for a second. He glanced at the calendar on his desk. Satisfied with what he saw, he leaned forward and picked up the phone. He dialed and waited for a response.

"Jackson, it's Josh. Yeah, everything's all right. Just wanted to call."

Cleburne looked out the window at the setting sun. "How's Mom and Dad? The old man still complaining about the dairy prices he's getting?"

Cleburne frowned as he listened. "So Dad told you about my call the other day. No, I haven't adopted a kid. Yes, I would tell you all if I did! Oh come on, Jackson, what adoption agency is going to place a child with an unmarried military officer, who's constantly going off overseas to serve his country?"

"Yeah, you know him, it's Irving. You know, the kid you meet every year during the holidays. Well, he's getting to the age where he's noticing the girls. You know, Dad said the same thing..." Cleburne replied testily. "No, Jackson, you have all girls. Speaking of which, does Lily still have her heart set on Annapolis? How are her grades? That good, huh - not bad at all. Yes, I plan to be home for Thanksgiving, assuming something insane doesn't happen before then..."

Joshua made small talk with his brother for a few minutes before saying, "Jackson, I was wondering if you could help me out. The Gamecocks are playing Georgia on September 8th. I know it's an away game, but I was wondering if you could rustle up some tickets? Good ones, I mean."

Cleburne listened for a few seconds. "Sideline, really? You can swing that? Just how big a contributor to USC are you?" There was a pause for a few seconds. "Listen Jackson, I'm thinking about buying some rental property in Roanoke, you interested?" Cleburne smiled.

"Good, good, I'll get the information for you and I'll give you a call next week about the tickets. What? How many? I'd say four."

 **UC Sunnydale campus, Sunnydale, California. August 10, 2001**

Anthony opened the door. "Helen," he said in surprise. By this point he knew that she knew, and had been sure that she would never speak to him again.

"Hello, Anthony," she replied uncertainly. "Look, I've talked to that Buffy Summers girl, and she's filled me in on what really happened last weekend. And with everything I've learned...well, we need to talk."

Anthony held the door open as Helen entered his dorm room. But the poor man had no *idea* what sort of bombshell this woman was about to throw his way, regarding their recent experiences.

 **Hopkinsville, Kentucky. August 14, 2001**

The clerk smiled at the soldier. "Thank you. I hope it sells quickly," she said as she took the piece of paper from him. The soldier thanked her and walked out of the newspaper office.

"That's the fifth one this week."

"What?" the clerk said in response to the declaration of the other clerk behind the counter.

"That's the fifth soldier this week from Fort Campbell wanting to place an ad in the paper to sell their car. It's only Tuesday, and we've already had five people wanting to sell their vehicle?" She sighed. "They only do that when they're being shipped overseas. They don't need a Honda there, they need tanks."

She looked at the window as the soldier drove away back towards the base, that was the home of the 101st Airmobile Division. "Something's brewing. A deployment overseas. And someone's about to have a whole bunch of paratroopers show up in their front yard."

 **Outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. August 15, 2001**

Darla was doing something odd for a vampire. She was waddling like a pregnant woman. Of course, that was because she was pregnant.

Nearly six months to the night after *it* had happened, Darla had finally arrived back in the City of Angels. That damned ocean voyage had dragged on interminably, delays coming from seemingly every direction after the ship had departed from Hong Kong; but now it was over. She was...home, for want of a better word.

She mentally prepared herself, she knew she had to do this. Still, the blonde woman was a little scared. Darla steeled herself and slowly went to the front doors, opening them and subsequently walking into the lobby.

Cordelia Chase was the first to spot the new arrival. Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor, "Wha..." she managed to splutter.

"Hello all. So, did you miss me?" Darla calmly asked the astonished Fang Gang now staring at her pregnant belly.

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

**Part Forty-nine**

 **The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. August 15, 2001**

"Hello all. So, did you miss me?" Darla calmly asked the astonished Fang Gang now staring at her pregnant belly.

"You're, you're pregnant?" Wesley managed to stammer out.

Darla smirked at that. "Oh, so *that's* why I gained all this weight! And here I was thinking that it was the ship's crew I ate all the way here from Hong Kong."

"Darla," Angel said at once. They may have been together for nearly two centuries, but her sense of humor was often something indefinable even to him. So the male vampire had to say it. "Tell me you didn't?"

Darla walked down the stairs into the middle of the lobby. "No, no humans. Remember, I *do* have a soul nowadays, quite bothersome sometimes. However, quite a few pigs didn't survive the voyage." She looked around. "So, is anyone going to ask the pregnant woman if she would like to sit down?"

"Men," Cordelia muttered in annoyance, as she regained her poise. { Never mind how the *hell* she got pregnant, or who the father is for now. That'll have to wait! } She hurried forward. "Darla, c'mon, let's get you off your feet already! Do you need anything else? Blood?" the brunette asked as she guided Darla to a chair next to the check in desk, glaring at the men the whole time.

"Thank you. So Angel, miss me?" Darla asked somewhat sarcastically.

Angel was still fixated on the sight of her swollen belly. And unlike in a world where the prophetic words of Xander Harris had never reached his ears, his heart was soaring with happiness, tinged with worry, instead of shock and confusion. {Connor. You're here at last.} Then he pulled himself together. "Darla, where were you? I looked everywhere for you!" the guy demanded.

"Yeah, he sure did, drove us all crazy there for a while trying to figure out where you'd gotten to," Gwen said, taking in the new arrival with interest. "And just for the record, that was a real professional job of vanishing. I know of at least one occasion I wish I had been able to cover my tracks like that."

"Well, I've had a lot of practice," Darla said. "After all, I've been around ever since the early 17th century. Lots of times I needed to not be found in all those years." Angel looked closely at Darla as she sat down. "Cordelia, I could really use a mug of pig's blood if you have it."

Cordy smiled at once. "Of course we do." She looked around to Angel. "Well?"

"What?" Angel asked. "OH!" he said as he realized what Cordy wanted. "Wait right here." He hurried into his office.

Darla looked up at her one-time rival curiously. "Not to sound ungrateful or anything. But why are you being so nice to me?"

Cordelia smiled again at the blonde vampire. "You're pregnant. Who can be mean to a pregnant woman? Besides, I remember what it was like when that *asshole* Wilson Christopher impregnated me with his demon spawn."

There were several upraised eyebrows, as Wesley alone was the only other member of the gang present who knew about that. The Chase woman ignored it and went on, "Don't worry, after the birth and the time is right, I'll go back to treating you like the blonde-haired demon bitch that you are." Cordy managed to deliver that line in a tone that wasn't offensive and actually endearing in a certain way.

Darla smiled back. "Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way!"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "This takes me back to my boarding school days."

Angel came back in, cradling a coffee mug in his hand. He hurried over to the chair Darla was sitting in. When he got close Cordy took the mug from the vampire's hands and gave it to Darla. "There you go."

"Thank you," the mother-to-be said graciously to Cordy.

"Uh, standing right here? The guy who got the pig's blood?" Angel said plaintively.

"So, Darla," Cordy ignored Angel completely. "You're back. Going to stay for a while?" Wesley and the others just stared, trying to figure out how Cordelia had somehow taken control of the situation.

"Well, traveling is a problem for me." Darla waved her hands over her belly. "And I figured this was a good place as any to deliver the little bundle of joy." Darla looked at Angel. "I also have some things to discuss with the father."

Angel actually audibly gulped at that declaration. Cordy looked at her boss, and scowled viciously. {Yeah, why am I not surprised? I mean, who else did I really think it was? } "Uh-huh, I imagine you do. And by the way, Angel? We *will* be having words later on why you were *stupid* enough to risk unleashing Angelus that way!"

"You're pregnant," Wesley managed to stammer again. He was rewarded by everyone in the lobby looking at him strangely.

"Well, gee Wesley. What gave it away?" Darla asked. "I didn't think this dress looked all that maternity-like," she added with a sarcasm-laden voice.

"But this is impossible, you're a vampire. Vampires can't - I mean, they're not *able* to get pregnant," Wesley said firmly, yet somehow not losing any of his dazed confusion.

They all looked to Angel for confirmation. He shrugged, "Can't argue with that."

"And yet, here I am with a bun in the oven," Darla said, the sarcasm stronger than ever.

The former Watcher was now clearly confused. "This is unprecedented, nowhere in all my readings have I ever come across." He trailed off and looked at Angel, as a memory from last year surfaced. "Oh dear God. You knew?"

Angel really didn't want to answer any questions right now about that, as he glanced at Cordelia. Luckily, she didn't seem to remember that conversation. He turned to Darla, "I think we need to talk."

"I already said that." She struggled up. "Come on, this conversation doesn't need an audience," she said as the two of them entered Angel's private office. Leaving the Fang Gang in a confused state, although Wesley had a look on his face of working through something.

 **Angel's private office. A moment later**

Angel closed the door behind him as Darla made for one of the chairs. "Damn, if I knew how hard it was to walk this way, well - I might have done more to avoid it." She looked up at the father. "So, I imagine you have questions."

"Damn straight. Where have you been?" Angel demanded. "Ever since we lost track of you in Mexico, I mean."

"Lots of places, I've been traveling quite a bit. Guatemala, Australia, Tibet, Hong Kong," Darla answered.

"Doing what?" Angel asked, halfway fearing what the answer would be.

"Honestly?" Darla asked.

"Yes, honestly," Angel replied.

"Well, at first I wanted to get rid of this child in my belly. Saw every witch doctor, shaman, mage and wizard I thought could help. None did," the woman answered. Angel's face showed a horrified look. "Don't worry, the little tyke is tougher than he looks. Took everything thrown at him and came up smiling. By the way, it's definitely a boy."

"I know," Angel commented.

"That's right, your old friend the Timetripper clued you in - long before I ever showed up! So, any other useful tidbits he's sent our way? Maybe a few winning numbers for the state lottery. Junior could have one hell of a college fund!"

"A few things," Angel said, remembering Xander's last letter. "We'll talk about them later and no, there were no lottery numbers mentioned. For now, what's it like for you, being pregnant?"

Darla grunted in a malicious way. At least Angel thought it was malicious, he had never heard grunts to have attitudes before. "What do you think? I'm a vampire who's having a baby. And the child I'm carrying was sired, no scratch that, was *fathered* by another vampire. It's some kind of mystical creature that's protected from everything the best mages in this world could come up with! A female shaman in Australia, she even started yelling at me - at least I thought it was me, since I couldn't see anything else - about evil. Those monks in Tibet didn't know what the hell to make of me, although they tried to teach me the techniques they use to control their inner werewolf. And to top it all off, I've heard rumblings about a cult springing up that wants to worship the child and who's now started looking for me!"

She suddenly glared at Angel. "Not to mention everything else that normally goes with being pregnant, like mood swings and strange cravings. I swear, I can't believe I've been obsessed for the past week over what color to paint the nursery! The Master would be laughing himself silly right now, if he wasn't dust these days."

Angel had a brief flashback to that night during in 1997, before he spoke up. "Nursery, so, uh, there will be a nursery then. And where will it be?"

Darla looked at Angel. "Well, you have this big old hotel just sitting here. Lots of empty rooms, remember?"

"Yeah. So, will it be a room for both mother and son, or just son?" Angel asked cautiously.

"Angelus." Darla answered uncertainly.

"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't say that!"

"Shut up and listen to me, you moron! Look, I don't know what my plans are after the tyke-" the vampiress started to say.

"His name is Connor, Darla, so start using it. Even if Xander hadn't mentioned my son's name in his letters, I still know what I'd have named him. That part of it is and was inevitable." Angel interrupted, coming closer.

"Fine, after *Connor* is born. What do I do? Raise him here together with you? Pretend we're a nice, normal, *human* family? Well, newsflash, Daddy - we're not. We're anything *but* that! What do I have to offer a child, a human child, besides ugly death?"

"Love," Angel said with a look of astonishment. "Four hundred years and you never loved anyone or anything, even me - until now. You've fallen in love with our baby, haven't you? Completely. Unselfishly. No matter how hard you try not to, you love our son."

The stress and the hormones got to the pregnant woman, and the waterworks started in an instant. Without hesitation Angel crossed the short distance between them and let Darla cry on his shoulder, pulling her into a fierce protective hug. "It'll be okay. I promise you that somehow, it's all gonna be okay."

"No, it's not. And it won't be," Darla said through her tears.

"What do you mean?" Angel asked in confusion.

"If it was, your friend would have told you. As in, I would still be around during 2003! You would be happy. A happy Angel leads to an unhappy Angelus. And since Angelus isn't here, that tells me you're not completely happy. Even though you should be, since you're going to be a father," Darla explained. "Bottom line, it's not okay and it's not going to be okay. Not for me, anyway!"

Angel had forgotten just how clever Darla was. "It will be, I'll make sure of it this time around."

If only Sahjhan and Skip, who were both monitoring the conversation from within different dimensions, hadn't burst out laughing at hearing that one.

 **Suez Canal, Egypt. August 16, 2001**

The sailors looked off the deck of the U.S. Navy aircraft carrier _Theodore Roosevelt_ , on the shore they could see the various fishermen tending their boats. Nearby Egyptian patrol boats circled the carrier to make sure no one got too close for comfort.

"I wonder what they're thinking?" one of the sailors suddenly asked.

"Fishermen are the same everywhere. They're mad because they're stuck on shore until we pass," another of the sailors said. "Oh yeah, and that we're taking away their livelihood."

"Only for a little bit," was the response.

"Hey, that short period of time, it could be the difference between three meals a day and skipping one. A hungry stomach gives someone a strong reason to be mad. Also, they probably didn't get much warning that we were about to shut down their livelihood."

"None of us did. It's been pretty much hell for leather ever since we got the deployment order," the first sailor who'd spoken observed.

"Left behind the slower ships. The brass definitely wants us somewhere in a hurry," a third sailor observed.

"Heard we're supposed to meet up with the _Carl Vinson_ when we get to the Indian Ocean. Looks like we're going to be seeing some action," another one said.

"Iraq?"

"What else?"

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. Later that day**

Lilah Morgan looked up as her assistant entered her office. "Ma'am?"

"What is it?" Lilah snapped. She wasn't in a good mood at the moment, too many things had not been going her way recently.

The dearly departed Lindsey MacDonald was far too creative in generating problems for his former law firm, in the female attorney's opinion. He had gotten someone to cast a spell on him that had made him invisible and undetectable to the seers around here, something Lilah suspected he had picked up from what Xander Harris had done to himself months ago.

And what was more, Files and Records had recently reported that Lindsey's contract with Wolfram & Hart had somehow fallen apart, the mystically tamper-proof papers collapsing into nothingness, setting the lawyer free of any and all of his former obligations.

It was unique. It was unprecedented. And it was something you did *not* talk about in front of Linwood Murrow, not if you didn't want to be ritually sacrificed to the Underlord of Pain or whatever evil entity of the week happened to be in favor.

"There's someone here to talk to you, Ms. Morgan," the assistant said.

"I'm busy," Lilah said dismissively, and went back to the motion she was working on.

"It's about Darla, apparently she's back in Los Angeles. One of her aliases was on a recent ship's passenger list."

Lilah looked up at the sound of that voice, and instantly recognized Lindsey's replacement. The Asian attorney named Gavin Park.

Wearing an immaculately tailored suit, the young man had been a thorn in Lilah's side almost from the moment they'd met back in April. But since Gavin was now the poster boy for Special Projects, given Lilah's failed Harris scheme, he couldn't just be fed to a vampire or whatever to get rid of him. {More's the pity} the brunette woman thought to herself briefly.

The assistant vanished out the door, as Gavin sauntered in. {Nice corner office. I'm going to enjoy moving in here one of these days.}

"It's customary to wait outside until someone says 'come in'," Lilah said frostily to her co-worker.

"Oh, we don't really need to insist on such formalities anymore, do we?" Gavin smiled like a weasel. "After all, we've been working closely together for months now."

"And yet it seems like only yesterday, sometimes," Lilah fired back. "Well, was that all? I'm very busy, like I said."

Gavin smiled that detestable smile again, loving the way he was getting under the other lawyer's skin this way. "Oh, I suppose there was one other thing. My sources have recently discovered where your old friend Xander Harris might be hiding out at the moment. And I do mean 'might be', unfortunately."

Lilah jumped to her feet at once, the motion forgotten. "Where is that son of a bitch!?"

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base** **, Cuba. August 17, 2001**

"Done!" Xander shouted, dropping the weapon onto the table.

"Fifty-nine seconds," Fred Burkle replied, looking impressed and consulting the stopwatch she was holding.

"That long?" Xander said disappointedly. "I used to be able to do it quicker..." And he viciously quashed the memory from another life. Being alone with Cordelia Chase in the Sunnydale Armory that night, after Angelus and the Judge had been unleashed.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't try it blindfolded?" Fred said.

"No, that was the whole point," Xander said as he took the blindfold off. "There was a time I could do it within 57 seconds. It took me too long, in my opinion, to put that thing back together." He motioned at the gun in front of him. "An M-16 isn't that hard to reassemble, y'know!"

"Says the man with all those soldier memories in his head. I wonder how many other people could do what you just did," Fred commented.

The two of them were in a garage on the Navy base. The weekend was starting, and the duo were killing time until dinner in the mess hall and a movie. Xander had been cleaning the M-16 and decided to see how long it would take to put it back together, blindfolded. Fred had offered to time him.

"It's not that hard once you get the feel of the rifle. Any of the Siberians running around here could do it." Xander thought for a second. "Well, maybe not Fletcher, but all the military ones anyway. And if not an M-16, a P-90 or Colt M4A1."

Fred nodded at that. "So what's the movie tonight?" she asked, changing the subject. The exiles, as Xander called his group, could easily stay in their bungalow and watch DVDs, but Harris actually was looking forward to the social atmosphere of the base theatre.

"Pearl Harbor," Xander answered.

Fred smiled at that, in an ironic way. "Kind of fitting, considering what's coming next month."

Despite all the need to know crap, Fred was in the know as to Xander's disclosure of the events of 9/11. Of course, Ms. Burkle also liked the idea of going to a love story movie with her not-so-secret crush, even if it was with the rest of the exiles. Speaking of which.

"I know Oz is gonna be joining us, but how about Irving and Bethany?" the physicist asked.

"Don't know. Last time I saw them, they were headed to one of the tennis courts. Say, is it just me, or do the two of them really like to play tennis a lot?" Xander asked thoughtfully.

Fred smiled at that. By now she had figured out the Wizard's feelings regarding that redhead, like Oz had, and thought it was all rather cute to be honest. "Oh, you know how kids are at that age, lots of energy to burn off."

Xander looked strangely at Fred. "I guess. Mind you, it's been a few years since I experienced that first-hand, even putting aside the fact my life experience is basically doubled."

"You've been through a lot," Fred observed.

"Yeah. Been there, bought the T-shirt," Xander replied.

The young woman paused for a second and then worked up the courage to ask the question on her mind the last month, well - one of them. "With all you've been through, Xander - why are you so determined to be on one of the teams dealing with the terrorists? You've given the warning, so why put yourself at risk like that?"

"Because I have to," was Xander's short reply.

Fred rolled her eyes. She was Texan, so she was used to male posturing of this sort. Of course, the fact that she was used to it didn't mean she liked it. "That's no answer. Come on, no one's forcing you to be on one of those planes. So what's the real reason? I mean everyone believes you, you've proven yourself over a dozen times already!"

Xander frowned for a second. "It's not that...look, Fred, even if nothing goes wrong and everything clicks together perfectly, people will still die. That happens during wartime, it just can't be helped. People are gonna be at risk of dying because of what I said. In a sense, I'm responsible."

"No you're not. Those terrorists are the ones responsible. They're the ones at fault here," Fred replied, trying to reassure her friend.

"Yeah, I mean I know the bad guys are the ones really starting things off. But our people will be there on the front lines because I sent them there, because I sent them..." Xander tried to find the word to express what he was saying.

"You're the one sending them in harm's way."

Fred and Xander looked at the entrance of the hangar where Cleburne was standing. He walked in and looked at the assembled M-16. "They're going in and risking their lives based on something you did. Of *course* that leaves you uneasy. Every military officer or leader worth his salt feels the exact same way."

"Do you?" Xander asked.

"Always," Cleburne answered in a level tone.

"You know how I feel then," Xander stated.

"You never really get used to it," Cleburne replied vaguely, already guessing where Xander was gonna go with this. "You shouldn't either. Any commander who does is doing a grave disservice to his troops."

"You're leading one of the teams," Xander noted in a tone that came close to being accusing.

"What can I say, I'm really bad at delegating some things," Cleburne replied glibly.

"I know you talk a good game about how important I am to STW, Cleburne. But come on, I'm not really that important anymore! Too many things are different. You, you run all those agents reporting in from all over the world. Me, I just have the newspaper delivered to me earlier than everyone else. Five years earlier, but you know what I mean," Xander said seriously.

Cleburne sighed. "Things go wrong in war, kid."

Xander rolled his eyes at that. "Come on! I know that, I know that better than most people on this planet. How many wars have I been involved in, some of them more than once? Murphy's Law and I know each other very well. When things go wrong, I want to be there because I'm the one who set everything in motion."

"How long?" Cleburne asked abruptly, pointing at the M-16.

"Fifty-nine seconds," Fred answered with pride in her voice.

The Marine raised an eyebrow. "That slow? I remember DIs who would make me do a hundred pushups for taking that long."

"What can I say? I've been busy the last few years," Xander said in annoyance. "And somehow, I don't think assembling an M-16 quicker than that is exactly what you're looking for in an anti-terrorist plane recruit."

"Yeah, I'll admit that one's not really too high on the mission parameters," Cleburne said with a shrug.

"So how about it? You know what's at stake, and you know what I'm capable of. Give me one good reason - apart from the future knowledge dealie - why I shouldn't be on one of the teams," Xander demanded.

"Well, Dr. Reynolds isn't too keen on the whole idea." the field director started to say.

"Hey, she thinks I belong inside of a nut house!" Xander saw the look Fred sent him and briefly explained, "The woman kept pushing me to open up, so what the hell - recently, I described what I knew about the feeding habits of a Mogfan beast to her."

Fred gasped in horror. "WHAT? But that's, that's that thing eats women alive, starting with their...! What are you trying to do, drive Dr. Reynolds to the point of having nightmares?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. Sorry Fred, but I guess I just have this *thing* with regard to shrinks," Xander looked slightly apologetic. He turned back to Cleburne. "So, how about it?"

"You're simply not going to let this go, are you?" the Marine asked dejectedly.

"No, I'm not," Xander answered firmly.

"All right, fine," Cleburne said with an air of resignation. "Behave with Dr. Reynolds from now on, and you're on my team. Tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock, I'll send a car to the bungalow where you're staying to pick you up. And kid? Don't make me regret this!"

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. August 19, 2001**

"Burgundy. I like burgundy," Darla declared.

"Why?" Gwen Raiden asked. "I figured you would be more into something with animals or cartoon characters."

"I find burgundy wallpaper calming, the color reminds me of blood," Darla answered.

"You know - every once in a while, the whole mother-to-be thing slips. And I remember you were a Master vampire spreading death and destruction for centuries," Gwen said, shaking her head.

Gwen and Darla looked around the hotel room that the Fang Gang was fixing up as a nursery. "That's exactly what I was. And just in case I ever lose my soul, you shouldn't forget it," the vampiress replied.

"I thought though that it was permanently bound?" the female thief didn't look happy at that thought.

"Nothing in this world is ever 100%. You of all people should know that," Darla riposted.

"So, if you do go all happy after junior is born? That can't mean anything good," Gwen mused.

"True." Darla looked at Raiden intently. "Look, you've got quite a bit going for you that would faze even a Master vampire. If I go evil and it looks like I'm going to kill Connor, you're to dust me on sight."

"What?" Gwen asked, her surprise evident.

"You heard me. Angel would hesitate a moment too long, and the others might not be able to do it, but you well, you're not that attached to me and you've got the moves and power to pull it off."

Gwen almost gulped at Darla's statement. "Not very often you have a pregnant woman ask you to kill her in the future, if she has a really bad day."

"Promise me," Darla demanded.

Gwen blinked once. "Okay, I promise. I'll kill you in order to protect your baby from you, if it comes to that."

"Good," Darla smiled and turned back to the wall. "You know, you might be right about the cartoon characters. I've always liked Tom and Jerry. For some reason they remind me of Botticelli's frescos, you know - the ones with the lepers."

Gwen shook her head. "These people are just as messed up as the ones who sent me here," she mumbled to herself. Of course, since Darla had vampire hearing.

"Yes, I've been wanting to hear more about your previous compatriots. I owe one of them a word of thanks for the good news about Connor." Darla quieted down as Wesley approached the two of them.

"Darla," he said. "I was thinking that perhaps we ought to start discussing prenatal care for the child?"

The female vampire nodded, as Wesley glanced towards Angel's private office. He had figured something out that didn't sit well with him, and was trying to find the right time to broach it with his boss. {No, not yet, but soon, after all, I could possibly be wrong, although I very much doubt it.}

 **Outside the Hyperion Hotel. The same time**

The vampire looked up at the hotel. "She's here, and the miracle child is within her." He nodded to the other vampires, as they gathered around him and started forming a mob.

Unexpectedly though, instead of attacking the hotel all the minions got down on their knees as the leader intoned, "For His time has come. Praise be. Praise be. Praise be."

 **Munich, Germany. August 20, 2001**

Kommissar Otto Seitz was very irritated, well actually he was well past that and getting onto quite angry. "Verdammung, what do you mean they are not available?" the policeman snapped at the contrite USAF officer.

"The officers you've requested are unavailable right now, sir. They have another mission ongoing," the American explained.

"All of them? A couple of them being unavailable is to be expected, but surely at least one of them could show up, nicht wahr?" Seitz asked in an irritated tone. He hadn't been this annoyed ever since he'd been transferred from Wiesbaden after that business with that Rangers lieutenant last year, what had his name been? {Hall? Hale? }

"They send their regrets. However, I'm confident your people can take care of that vampire gang on their own," was the response.

Otto harrumphed. "It seems we will have to." Not knowing similar conversations had been happening quite a bit in recent days throughout the world, and that various parties were beginning to compare notes.

 **Dartmoor Prison, Devon, England. The same time**

The man named Quentin Travers meditated alone within his cell.

Ever since his...well, fall from grace, things had not gone very well for him. After Travers had been arrested during that meeting in the Watchers HQ months ago, and in his mind become the subject of permanent ridicule and embarrassment, he'd suffered one humiliation after another.

Stripped of rank, stripped of freedom, stripped of dignity...you name it, he'd had it happen to him. Well, all right, Quentin hadn't been forced to suffer being processed through the courts like any other common criminal; the Home Secretary had stepped in, and quashed the extradition to the States and the nightmare of a colonial jail.

Instead, after all the diplomatic jockeying was over he'd been sent here. And at his age, Quentin knew that it was anticipated he'd be a resident of Dartmoor till the day he died.

It had been a trifle difficult for him at first, the other prisoners hadn't liked his attitude or even his upperclass accent. But Travers had been a Watcher for over 40 years, and whatever else you could say about him he knew how to handle that sort of people. His body might have been imprisoned, but his mind - possibly his greatest remaining weapon - still remained free.

Quentin's training and the knowledge from decades of service to the Council still remained his. So he'd calmed down, and taken stock of his new situation. Then however reluctantly he'd forced himself to blend in and when one of the inmates had taken a fancy to him, Travers had spilled human blood with his own two hands for the first time in decades. Oddly enough, he'd rather liked it, and so made an example out of the poor unfortunate for the rest of the prison population to learn from.

That was why everyone pretty much left 'the professor' alone nowadays, unless it was for business reasons. Survival was a priority and Travers had learned how to trade his knowledge for possessions and status, establishing a niche here for himself.

A niche he *hated* with every fiber of his being.

Because Travers wasn't the type to ever forgive or forget, and he carried the faces of all his enemies with him in his mind at all times. He was waiting for the day when he would escape from this damned jailhouse, and get his revenge. On all of them, especially that. Cursed. Child.

No matter how long it took.

 **Los Angeles, California. August 21, 2001**

"Okay, now I never imagined that once I hooked up with you guys, I'd ever be stealing stuff from a hospital," Gunn said philosophically.

"Suck it up and deal. Besides, what's wrong with a little larceny in the line of duty?" Gwen smirked briefly at him.

"Well, we're not actually stealing anything. We're just using hospital equipment without permission," Wesley said as he closed the door to the surgical suite. Cordy and Gwen helped Darla onto an examining table in the middle of the room, as Gunn and Angel pushed the ultrasound machine towards it.

"Again, why am I here?" Darla said in an irritated tone of voice.

"Well, it's easier to bring you to the equipment instead of dragging it all to the Hyperion. Less hassle all around, plus we *do* have to think about Connor's college fund," Angel replied.

"Still, you wound up dragging the pregnant woman out of her bed in the middle of the night," Darla said petulantly. "When we get back to the hotel, I want some vanilla ice cream covered in otter's blood."

"Man, have I mentioned lately just how completely messed up this whole thing is?" Gunn said in disbelief.

"Again, suck it up and deal. You want boring nine-to-five, get a job at the post office," Gwen smirked again, seeming to get a kick out of teasing the black man.

Gunn opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, just looking sad. "Damn. Can't argue with that."

Wes started putting jelly onto Darla's belly as she lifted her maternity dress up, and then turned on the ultrasound machine. "Right then. Let's take a look, shall we?" The former member of the Council started staring at the monitor as he moved the probe around. "Well, I haven't studied one of these for quite a while."

Angel frowned, looking at the blurred image. "Isn't that a head?"

Wesley nodded, squinting. "I think it is. Or is that the head?"

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe you're both right?" After everyone turned to look at her, the seer/thief added quickly, "Hey, it's not like I'm suggesting the kid's got two heads just 'cause his parents are vampires! I was only thinking, maybe it's twins."

Angel shook his head as Wes moved the sensor around. Cordy suddenly squealed, "Oh, I see it now! Hey, your Aunt Cordelia's here! Hi!"

Wes then said with a slight smile, "Yes, I'd say there's no doubt about it. It's a boy." As an aside to Darla he said, "You're definitely carrying a human son."

Darla shrugged. "Right. Not like I didn't know that before!"

Gwen suddenly tensed up, "Ah, anyone else noticed how we're now surrounded by vampires?"

Angel finally looked away from the monitor and noticed the pack of undead lining the teaching gallery above them and the back wall of the room. "What? Oh. Yeah. We are surrounded by vampires."

Cordy was a practical girl at heart, it was the product of a Sunnydale education. "Ahem - so, who has a plan?"

Gunn said simply, "Don't let 'em kill us sounds like a good first step to me."

Gwen took off her gloves as the lead vampire intoned, "The miracle child."

"What about him?" Angel demanded, in full combat mode by now.

But then to his and everyone else's astonishment, all the vamps got on their knees again like the previous night outside the hotel. "His time has come. Praise be. Praise be. Praise be," they all chanted.

"Okay, this is different," Cordelia commented in amazement. "What the hell is going on?"

"We are here to protect the miracle child," the Master vampire said as he got up and looked at Darla.

Angel wasn't sure if he believed that. "Really. Protect? Ah, okay, that's good. We're all here for the same thing then."

"As it has been prophesised by our great potentate Ul-thar, we vow our lives to protect this - special child," one of the other vampires said with a great deal of pride evident.

Angel couldn't help it, he said to Darla: "You hear that? Our kid. Special!" His voice was full of something approaching parental pride, as Darla tried not to roll her eyes.

The lead vampire suddenly threw a wet blanket on proceedings though when he added, "Now let us kill all the humans, so we may use their blood to nourish the mother - and her miracle child."

"Nourish me and Connor?" For a moment, Darla seemed intrigued by the prospect of human blood before rejecting it.

"Yes. Then we will slice you open, wear your entrails as a belt and consume your eyeballs before we worship the miracle child. The only-begotten son of two vampires, who will lead us to the Savage Garden!"

Darla instantly looked disgusted, and Gwen for one had heard enough. "Angel?"

The male vamp nodded. "I think you and I can hold them off for as long as it's necessary. The rest of you, take Darla back to the car!"

"Oh, come on! I'd rather stay and fight. Show these youngsters a thing or two about real carnage," Darla protested as she swung her legs off the exam table.

Angel almost groaned. "That's real thoughtful of you Darla, but, you know, I think it's probably best you should get going now."

"KILL THEM!" the head honcho shouted to his minions before Gwen blasted him with lightning and the surgical suite began to become an urban battlefield.

The vampires hesitated for a second as they saw their former leader smolder. "Damn," one of them muttered. "Come on!" he shouted when he regained his senses "For the miracle child!" All the vampires instantly surged forward.

Behind Angel and Gwen, Darla and others made their way to the exit. Gunn and Wesley fending off the few vampires who were able to get close to the group.

The soulless demon who was now leading the cult members reached Angel. He swung at the ensouled vampire, only to be surprised when Angel reached out and grabbed him.

"Listen carefully. You are gonna leave my son alone," Angel growled as he lifted the vampire off the ground. "And his mother too."

"Nice to know he cares," Darla muttered as she was pushed out the door.

"Move it, Mom vampire!" Cordy said acerbically as she yanked the undead woman along.

Next to the two women, a vampire turned to dust as Gunn staked him. "Get her to the car!" he shouted as he led the way.

Wesley looked back into the surgical suite. He blinked for a second at what he saw.

Gwen was blasting away at the vampires, any one that got close to the thief was rewarded with a touch from her ungloved hand with the resulting electrical display. There was now quite a bit of dust surrounding her.

Angel was in the process of staking a female vampire. Around him was a second pile of dust. He was in full game face, but it looked even more demonic than normal. As the female who had been fighting him turned to ashes, Angel reached and grabbed the closest vampire. He jerked him and pushed him against three other vampires who were rushing him.

"Angel, Gwen. Come on!" Wesley shouted. "Now!"

The two members of the Fang Gang quickly followed Wesley out of the surgical suite. Angel, by now back in human face, reached over and pulled the fire alarm. "More confusion to help our escape."

They hurried down the corridors of the hospital as confused and frightened people were filling up the corridors. Several security personnel were running towards the surgical suite. Wesley led his companions down a flight of stairs. "Come on, they're in the car waiting for us!" Wesley said as they entered the garage.

He stopped at the sight of the '68 Plymouth and Gunn's truck that Angel's Avengers had used to come to the hospital, with Cordelia up against the side of the Angel-mobile. "Cordy! What happened?" Angel rushed to the car.

"Those assholes shocked me!" she grunted. "And hey, this is an original Donna Karan outfit!"

"Who?" Wesley asked, ignoring the Cordelia-esque fashion rant.

"SWAT team from the evil lawyers. They jumped us as soon as we got here," Cordy explained.

"Where's Gunn?" Gwen asked.

"Right here. Damn, getting tasered is no fun," Gunn said as he opened the door of his truck and almost fell out.

"Darla?" Angel shouted impatiently.

"They went thataway," Gunn said, waving his arm towards the garage exit.

"Come on!" Angel said urgently as he got in the driver's seat of his car, the others quickly piling in.

The squeal of tires was heard as Angel hit the accelerator. The others held on as the male vampire drove up the ramp, "They'll probably take her straight to Wolfram & Hart's main offices. We can probably beat-"

The Plymouth stopped suddenly, pitching the Fang Gang forward - as they'd all forgotten to buckle up. "Oh, that's it. I'm definitely using the seat belt next time," Wesley grumbled.

"Angel. What's wrong?" Cordelia asked as she straightened up.

"Look," Angel said as he exited the car. The others hurriedly exited it as well. Gunn got out of his truck that had stopped behind Angel's car.

In front of them on the ramp was a black van, just sitting there with its engine still running. Standing next to it was the six months pregnant Darla, with splashes of red on the maternity dress that hadn't been there earlier.

"What kept you, lover?" she said sarcastically to Angel. "Makes me worried about you showing up to pick up Connor after soccer practice. We can't have our son just waiting around for Daddy to show up, after all!"

Angel came up to Darla. "What happened?" he asked.

"What do you *think* happened? They said they were going to hurt Connor, dissect him as soon as they cut me open," Darla said firmly. "And that one idiot with the Balkans accent, he really got on my nerves!" Suddenly though she cheered up. "Got rid of those cultists?" she asked.

Angel nodded as he looked in the van.

"Good," Darla said dismissively. "Now let's go, I'm still hungry. I want that ice cream!"

The others just stared as she started walking back to the Fang Gang's vehicle. "Angel," Wesley said urgently after looking in the van. "That's not paint."

"I know," Angel said simply.

"But, but what she just did." Wesley started to say before Angel interrupted him.

"They were going to hurt Connor," the undead father said with finality. "And just so all of you know, from now on? That's all I need to hear. Because things are probably going to get a lot more ugly from this point on, if Wolfram & Hart's decided to start playing hardball!"

The ex-Watcher knew that conversation he had been putting off with his boss couldn't wait much longer now, as they all headed for the car and Gunn's truck.

 **An isolated castle, somewhere in the Swiss Alps. August 22, 2001**

"Your Highness."

Elizabeth Bathory, once also known as die Blutgrafin, smiled at being called that. It was good to hear, after all these centuries. "Baron Roja. It is a pleasure to once again meet with someone of noble blood from the old country," the female vampire said as she held out her hand for the one-time baron to take it.

The regal and handsome vampire took her hand, kissed it and smiled. "You flatter me, your Highness. I am after all merely a humble servant of the crown." The two were speaking in archaic Hungarian, ensuring that any eavesdropper would have to know that language to follow the conversation.

"It has been centuries since I wore the crown as Hungarian royalty," she replied.

"All who came after you are mere pretenders," was the suave comment from Ivan Roja.

Bathory was now feeling half-annoyed and half-flattered. She eventually went with flattered, "Indeed, and they have paid the price. The empire is no more, but I continue on. However, I did not summon you here to comment on their mistakes. I have need of certain services. Sit." She beckoned to the chair next to the couch she was reclining on. Ivan did as she commanded.

"No doubt you are familiar with the happenings recently. The humans are forgetting their place in the scheme of things," Bathory started. "We've had problems in the past of course, the Slayer and the Watchers have been and always will be bothersome. However, things are now getting completely intolerable."

Roja nodded. "Indeed, your Highness. Just yesterday a promising group I was once mentor to was cut down in Munich. I am shocked at what is happening lately."

"I imagine so, your opinions on those who hunt us are well known." Bathory took a drink from the chalice in front of her. "This new threat, you know, we're not dealing at all well with it. Those idiot lawyers in America, they've been chastised quite badly by them...it. The Immortal blunders around the party scene in Rome, and doesn't really know what to do. Then again of course, he's had some other problems lately besides the one I'm referring to."

"Women problems?" Roja asked.

"Of course. Arrangements had to be made to take care of a mistake, apparently. One of his whores heard more than it should have, but a little trip to Liberia cured that." Bathory pseudo-sighed. "At times I swear, never mind. You have experience in dealing with humans who forget their place in this world. And we have need of that experience."

Roja nodded. "Of course, your Highness. As I said earlier, I am your most humble and obedient servant."

Bathory looked at Ivan carefully. "Then tell me. What have you heard of this one they call the Timetripper?"

 **The White House, Washington D.C. August 23, 2001**

"Mr. President."

George W Bush looked up at the assistant who had spoken to him as the sunlight filtered in through the windows of the Oval Office. "Yes, Andy?"

"Attorney General John Ashcroft is here. He says he's ready to show his proposal for the anti-terror legislation you requested," the assistant explained.

"Good, I was hoping to get a look at it before too long. Now, have the Siberians sent anything else to go with the Attorney General's visit today?"

Andrew Card nodded. "They have. Colonel Cleburne sent you a packet concerning Mr. Harris." He handed a large brown envelope to the President.

Bush took the packet and opened it. He examined the first piece of paper for a few moments. "Well, I suppose it's appropriate. I wonder if Mr. Harris realizes what all he has started." Bush put the paper down on the desk and signed it. "Go ahead and have Ashcroft come in at once."

 **STW medical facility, Dallas, Texas. August 25, 2001**

"Morning, Holly."

Holly looked up from her book that she was reading in her wheelchair. "Cleburne. I thought you were in Gitmo?"

The Marine colonel sat down next to the former head of field ops for Siberian Trip Wire. And he was careful to keep to her right. "I was, flew back to the mainland a while ago. I've been running some errands."

"Before the big show," Holly commented. "Oh, don't look so surprised. You know I keep up with the trade, now more than ever - ever since Hollins did his little disappearing trick. And when you and your best operatives suddenly go to Gitmo and start training like crazy, I know something's up."

Cleburne sighed. Keeping secrets from his former patron was always problematic at best. "All right, yeah, a big show's about to be put on. We're the second act, and the other guys are not going to have as a good an opener as they thought."

Holly nodded. "You're about to do a modern-day version of Manstein's backhand?"

Cleburne chuckled. "You know, at times I forget that you're a military history buff! But yeah, that would be a good description. Anyway, I thought I'd stop by to let you know so you can keep your eye out with your old contacts. And I took your advice on the kid."

"Good, get him involved as one of the team. It'll be easier all around. I'm assuming the second act leads to a great third act?"

Cleburne smiled. "It's what we've been waiting years for. The gloves are finally coming off. Scheuer's ecstatic."

"Now that I would like to see! Tell me more," Holly asked politely.

So Cleburne proceeded to do just that. And when he left the clinic several hours later, Holly was smiling the smile of someone who's really looking forward to what's about to happen.

 **Lafayette Park, Washington D.C. August 27, 2001**

Esther Marcum leaned back on the park bench as the midday sun shone down on her. She reached down into the tupperware container next to her and drew out a sandwich. She started munching on it as she waited.

She didn't have to wait long until a middle-aged man dressed in an expensive suit walked up to the bench. "Is this seat taken?" he asked with an accent.

Esther smiled. "Not at all, please sit down."

The man did so. "Thank you. It is a glorious day, isn't it?"

Esther nodded. "It is. I'm enjoying the chance to get out of the office." She reached down into the tupperware container and brought out a second sandwich. "Here, Giscard, I made one for you as well."

"Tuna?" he asked in distaste. {Americans} "Thank you, but no. I ate before I came."

Esther shrugged her shoulders. "No problem, more for me. I'll save it for later." She put the sandwich back in the container. "So, you wanted to talk?"

Giscard sighed. "Directness, it seems to be a trademark of the Siberians."

Esther nodded. "Yes, it keeps my lunch hour to a lunch hour. What concerns our European friends these days?"

"All of your top-level operatives are currently unavailable for some reason. All of them at the same time? You Americans are up to something. All your ships, planes and troops being moved around the world like a little boy's toys. Someone is about to get a surprise, don't you suppose you should tell your friends what is going on?"

Esther didn't answer immediately, she watched some tourists stop in front of the White House and start taking pictures. "It's not uncommon for troops and ships to be moved around, after all we are a global power," she observed.

Giscard raised an eyebrow at that. "Please, madam, I know better. This deployment is much more than that. It's subtle and if you're not looking you don't see it. But, it's there."

"Yes it is," Esther agreed.

"What's it all about?" Giscard asked point-blank.

"Not quite yet," Esther shook her head. "We don't want to spoil the big surprise. When the time is right."

The Frenchman frowned. "And when would that be, exactly?"

"Soon," Esther replied. "By the way, what have you heard coming out of West Africa?"

Giscard was somewhat surprised by the change of subject. "There have been rumblings. They seem to center around Charles Taylor and Liberia."

Esther sighed. "Our problem, that. We'll need to fix it before too long. Maybe once all this is sorted out."

"Again, when?" Giscard pressed the point

Esther thought for a few seconds. "Meet me back here in fourteen days. The time will be right then."

 **Nightclub, Los Angeles, California. A few hours later**

Lilah sipped on her drink, as she looked at the mirror behind the main bar of the establishment. {If only I could afford to get drunk, or laid.}

"You won't see me there."

Lilah jumped at the sound of Angel's voice, even if there was still nothing in the mirror to indicate his presence. "You like doing that, do you?" the female lawyer asked as she turned around. Standing there a few paces behind her was Angel.

He didn't reply at first. The male vampire stepped forward, almost into Lilah's face. He wasn't in game face, but the face he had was not pleasant. "Whoa there cowboy, personal space," Lilah said quickly. "Remember that little 21st century custom?"

"You were going to treat my son like a lab rat. Or a guinea pig, or whatever," Angel growled.

Lilah almost blanched. "I guess you're all worked up about the retrieval team at the hospital a couple of days ago, not to mention the one at the Hyperion yesterday. But come on, you can't blame us for being curious. After all, a pregnant vampire? Don't see one of those every day, do you?"

Angel didn't answer her directly. "You know, I could keep you alive for weeks or months if I wanted to. Blood transfusions would allow me to make your life hell for as long as I wanted. Death would not come quickly for you, Lilah."

Lilah exercised all her self-control to not openly react to Angel's words. "Please, you're going to threaten me? Come up with something more creative and more visual next time!"

Angel morphed into game face. Lilah visibly reacted to that, scooting her barstool away from the vampire. Angel immediately moved towards the attorney, the exact distance she had moved the barstool. "I can be visual, quite visual. You don't believe me, ask your boss Linwood whether or not that new scar on his face was from shaving this morning. Lilah, I've got over 200 years of inspiration to work with and I'm sure you know some of my work. If not, then Gavin and Linwood can fill you in on the little conversation we had earlier..."

Angel's face returned back to a human visage. "This is your one and only warning, my family is off limits to you people. Any of you go near Darla or Connor or any of my crew again, Angelus comes to pay you a visit. Everyone at your firm is a target then, including the Senior Partners themselves. And for old time's sake? You'll be the first to die."

With that Angel stepped back, spun around and walked out of the bar.

Lilah watched him go. "Well, at least he didn't drive a tank through my office," she muttered.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. August 29, 2001**

Wesley forced himself to march towards Angel's private office, and knock on the door. He knew he had to stop putting this off; the latest attack by Wolfram & Hart on the Fang Gang was definitely the last straw, so to speak.

Even though Wes didn't know it, the LA branch of Evil, Inc. had been in a complete uproar ever since they'd discovered Darla was pregnant. Most of the psychics had been killed for incompetence, because such a thing was *inconceivable*. There wasn't even a hint of such a thing ever coming about, which was especially intolerable for an organization that had records on everything that had ever happened.

Linwood had definitely started acting like someone a few cards short of a full deck, to be honest. And for a while there, Lilah and Gavin had suspected that they were gonna get crucified for being unable to procure the mother and her offspring for him at the hospital. Still, they'd been smart enough to lay all the blame on the dead Commander Burke, who along with Dr. Fetanovich Darla had mercilessly slaughtered in the van that night - and saved their own asses.

As said, the evil trio had then organized another snatch and grab attempt with a full commando raid on the Hyperion. That hadn't gone too well either, with the Fang Gang and Gunn's Lost Boys going to town on the commandos. Unknown to Angel and his crew though, the street gang unit hadn't been all that happy about helping vampires.

However, a favor had been called in when Gwen had placed a phone call to STW. The secret organization had built up a lot of favors over the last year or so, and the Lost Boys knew better than to bite the hand which fed them; the material assistance they had gotten ever since Xander had become part of the organization was far too valuable to lose.

In any case Wes was sure it wasn't just his imagination that he could still smell all that death and destruction, as he knocked on the door. "Angel?"

"Come in, Wes."

The Englishman quickly went inside, shutting the door behind him. "We need to talk."

Angel frowned at his desk. "About what?"

Wesley then said somewhat hesitantly, "I know. I've figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

The ex-Watcher said more firmly, "Over a year ago, long before both Darla and Gwen came into our lives, you asked me to investigate the coming of a miracle child born to two vampires, and how we could transfer the visions from Cordelia to someone else. And with hindsight, it's fairly obvious that both these things weren't just random whims - you *knew*. You knew about Darla's pregnancy before she had even been brought back from the dead. Just as you knew that Cordelia would somehow pass on her gift to her successor."

"Wesley." Angel had a very uncomfortable look on his face.

But the Englishman went on, "Initially, you see, I thought it was a mage or a seer of some sort. But after Darla came back I remembered how you'd mentioned back then that your information source was a hunted man, and people were willing to kill and torture in order to find him. That led me to the conclusion that he was someone with actual, advanced knowledge of the future. And coupled with how reluctant you were to tell us his real identity, it made me wonder whether your unknown informant was someone who had also somehow *experienced* the future."

Wesley paused. "And so finally, I remembered the rumors. This mythical figure who's known as the Timetripper in some circles. A time-traveler who supposedly has connections to the highest levels of government. There's even a website about him. That's when I realized, Xander Harris is still alive, isn't he?"

The deceptively soft words were almost like being dunked in holy water for Angel. "Wes. Come on! I mean, just because they never found his body back then."

"Angel, please. Who else could it be? Besides, I haven't forgotten how on the first day that Gwen arrived, she said something then for you to instantly accept her presence here. Something about May, 1997. Now it's common knowledge that you were in Sunnydale then. And I've heard how you barely even knew Cordelia existed at that time, so that leaves only Mr. Giles, Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg and the young man in question. Putting all the circumstantial evidence together...what else am I supposed to conclude?"

The former Angelus was silently cursing Wesley's brilliant intellect, even as he was also grudgingly admitting that it was probably only a matter of time till his friend had figured out the truth anyway. He then looked up at Pryce, "Have you mentioned any of this to anyone else?"

Wesley shook his head. "No one. I haven't even rung my father to verify some of the details."

"Then please, do me a favor. Don't do that till I say it's all right, okay?" Angel asked, not knowing the senior Wyndham-Pryce was already very aware of Xander's survival.

Wesley shrugged, "As you wish. So then, are you going to tell me that I'm wrong in my suppositions?"

Angel hesitated. "Is Cordelia here at the hotel right now?"

"No, I believe she and her boyfriend are off somewhere else doing whatever it is they do when they're alone," the British man confessed. "Why?"

Angel didn't answer him. Instead, he summoned the rest of the gang into the office; Darla, Gunn and Gwen. "Okay, listen up. Everyone in this room shares a secret, and I guess it's time we finally put an end to all the cloak and dagger stuff." He caught Wesley's eye, "The fact is, we all know that Xander Harris is still alive, even though the rest of the world thinks he died back in 1999."

The three new arrivals looked absolutely stunned at the huge secret being so casually tossed out into the open like this, but Wesley just had a big look of satisfaction on his face. {I knew it! I KNEW IT! } Then he looked around with a frown, "Er, Angel? Cordelia isn't here."

Angel hastily explained, "Yeah, she doesn't know, and what with their history, look, for heaven's sake, just, please, don't any of you say anything about Xander in front of Cordy! She's still far too sensitive about that subject. And if that guy doesn't want her to know the truth, then that's his choice and we have to respect that."

Most of the others nodded silently. Wesley had a curious look on his face, but then looked like he'd had an epiphany. "You're afraid of what she'll do to you, if she learns the truth?"

"That and the fact she might feel the need to tell Buffy and the others the big secret. And that would be bad," Angel explained.

"Surely they have a right to know, though?" Wesley asked.

"Trust me, English," Gwen said. "There's a reason why all this is still a secret. The people who are keeping the secret, keeping Harris safe, you don't want them getting angry with you. They can find you and make their anger known. And the more people who know, the angrier they get. We need their help, so don't rock the boat."

Wesley thought for a second. He turned to Angel. "You're more afraid of Cordelia, aren't you? You're worried how she'll react and what she'll do."

Angel shrugged. "Well, that and how much abuse she'll manage to inflict on my credit card in retaliation."

 **Miami International Airport, Florida. September 7, 2001**

The customs officer handed the passport back to the young man. "Purpose of the visit?" he asked.

"Student, I'm studying at Florida State University," the man who had been in Afghanistan less than two days before replied.

The customs officer nodded. "Okay. Enjoy your stay," he said after looking at the watch list. Unfortunately, this particular man's name wasn't on that list; although in four days, a lot of people were going to wish that it had been.

 **Athens, Georgia. September 8, 2001**

The crowd in the packed football stadium roared, as the football players celebrated a touchdown in the endzone. And the sound down on the sideline was deafening. Down there, Cleburne was wincing. Oz was stoic as always. Xander and Gunny were just enjoying the atmosphere.

Gunny noticed the amused look on Xander's face. "Quite an experience, isn't it?" he asked as players ran on and off the field.

"Yeah. I mean I've been to football games before, but nothing like this," Xander commented.

The quartet was in Athens on this fine autumn day, attending the football game between the University of Georgia and University of South Carolina. Cleburne's brother had come through with passes to the sidelines, and the foursome was enjoying the game.

At first, Xander had been surprised that Cleburne was taking them to a football game so close to September 11th. But as the Marine had said, "Hey kid, everything's done that needs to be done. We got our people lined up, we know what flights the bad guys are gonna be on and we're tracking their movements every second. You can't be wound up all the time."

So here it was, a beautiful weekend afternoon in the fall and Xander found himself well below the Mason-Dixon line watching college football, trying to forget what was coming in three days.

"In the South during college football season, every Saturday is like a religious holiday. They take it seriously down here," Gunny explained.

"Back in the day, I went to a few high school football games," Xander said, having a momentary flashback to Cordelia in her cheerleader outfit during her princess days. "And one or two college games as well, but they never came close to this. I mean, having fighter jets do a fly-over before a game, that's something I thought only happened at the Super Bowl."

Gunny chuckled at that. "I just hope South Carolina wins, I don't want the colonel in a foul mood before the big day."

Nearby, Cleburne was shouting at the referee. "Come on! That was holding, I could see the tags ripped from the jersey!" Oz just stared at him, as if out of curiosity over a weird species of animal.

Gunny smiled at Cleburne's shouting. "But don't worry, this is as bad as it gets from him on the football front. Well, until the Army-Navy game. Of course, that game's *important*."

"Important?" Xander asked. "And this isn't?"

"Well, it is to Cleburne and to people in South Carolina and Georgia. But Army-Navy? Whole lot more people get a whole lot more worked up about that."

Xander was silent for a second, as the two teams on the field carried out a play. "Still, it feels kinda odd watching a football game today of all Saturdays. Feels like I should be doing some more drills and practicing for Tuesday."

"Well, that's the thing. You get too hyped too early, your game day performance isn't the best it can be. From what I've seen, you and the rest of the colonel's team know what to do. And you can't stay wound up too long without it affecting how you perform," Gunny remarked, echoing his superior officer. "Besides, there are more pleasant things to be done today than think about what's coming in 72 hours."

"I wouldn't call a college football game just a pleasant way to pass the time," Xander replied.

Gunny looked at Xander. "Lieutenant, you need to look at more than just the game on the field. You telling me you haven't noticed?"

Ignoring for once Gunny's use of his fake military rank, Xander turned and looked at the non-com. There was a confused look on his face as he said, "What?"

"The dance team," Gunny nodded at the line of women not far down the field from them. "Come on. Have you really not noticed?"

"Well, they're dancers Gunny. Of course I've looked at them a few times," Xander replied, still not getting it.

Gunny rolled his eyes. "The blonde at the end, *Howard*. She's been giving you the eye."

Xander turned and looked at the dancer Gunny was referring to. She was a short blonde athletic girl, who was indeed sneaking glances in Xander's direction every so often.

{Damn. Why does she look vaguely familiar? } Xander focused and then said, "Her boyfriend must be on the team or something, and she's looking at him. We're probably just in the way."

Gunny shook his head. "No, thought of that. But we've moved several times and the team hasn't really moved from the sideline. It's us she's looking at. I know for damn sure it's not the colonel or me. It might have been Oz, but when he went off to get something to drink a few minutes ago she kept right on glancing at us. Face it. You're the star attraction for her."

Xander didn't know what to say as Gunny continued, "You've got an attractive young woman, a dancer to boot, making googly eyes at you. Someone your age should be jumping for joy at the thought. So go talk to her."

"Well, need I remind ya that someone my age isn't exactly someone my age? And I still think you're imagining things. But even if you're not, we're only here for the day. So, no reason to go talk to her when I already know nothing's gonna come out of it."

Xander had noticed by now that the dancer was pretty good-looking. {But like I said, I don't need any distractions right now. Not when I'm gonna be on a plane heading for New York soon.} He turned his attention back to the game.

"Well, I don't think she's gonna accept that," Gunny said after a few minutes.

"Huh? What?" Xander said as he turned around.

"Hello."

"Uh, hi," Xander stammered to the blonde dancer who was now standing in front of him with a sly smile on her face.

"Well, now, here's the thing. You weren't coming over my way, so I thought I'd come your way," she said flirtingly with a charming accent. "I'm Monica. Monica Carter." The young woman held out her hand.

"Alex Howard," Harris said, taking her hand and shaking it. Xander noticed that she held on to his hand for a few seconds longer than would be strictly polite. That was before he checked out her cleavage, before the guy quickly forced himself to look at her face.

"Alex," Monica said with a smile. "I like it. Short for Alexander, right? Did you know Alexander means protector or defender of mankind?"

Xander found himself nodding, experiencing another brief flashback to when Enoch had called him that - when he was technically dead, months ago. "I heard that somewhere. Personally though, I think they got that part wrong when they named me that."

Monica continued smiling. "Oh, I'm sure you live up to the name," she said, not knowing how close to the mark she was. "I've not seen you around here before."

"Came for this game, my friend is from South Carolina and a big fan," Harris replied, nodding at Cleburne. Who was clearly frustrated at a call from the referee further down the field.

"A Gamecock. You know you're going to go home disappointed, don't you?" Monica said with a twinkle in her eye.

Xander smiled and shook his head. "Nope, not me, I just came along for the ride. And I'm not from South Carolina."

At that moment, Monica was called back to the dance line. After the routine was over she came back to Xander. "So you're not a Gamecock. Where are you from, Alex?"

"California," Xander replied.

Her smile got bigger. "California! I've always wanted to visit there. Whereabouts in California?"

Xander caught himself before he made a flippant remark about Sunnydale being hell on earth. No reason to scare the poor girl, besides she was kind of fun to flirt with. "Small town north of Los Angeles," he said in a nonspecific way.

"Ah, sunny California. So what brings you to Athens, other than the game?" Monica pressed on, thankfully not asking for further details as to where Xander was from.

"Just the game, actually, like I said my friend over there's a big fan and he thought it would be fun to bring us here today," Xander explained. "Of course, that was before I discovered the charming company present." He smiled at Monica.

The blonde woman smiled back with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "You know what they say about Southern belles and our hospitality." She was then again called back to the dance line.

This time it was Xander who walked over to her, and spoke with the woman after the dance was done. "No, what do they say about Southern belle hospitality?" he asked with a grin.

Monica smiled back. "Well, now, it would only be proper for me to show an out-of-towner some good old Southern hospitality. Some of my friends and I like to hang out after the game at this new place we recently heard about, would you like to join us there?"

 **A bar somewhere in Athens, Georgia. Later that evening**

Xander Harris had been to quite a few bars in his life. For example, the Fish Tank in Sunnydale. The bar in Czechoslovakia where he'd met Oz again. That place in Florida with Rachael, after Ethan Rayne had finally gotten what was coming to him. Cleburne's favorite watering hole in Japan and the Fautis Bar, in Philadelphia among others.

But somehow, for some reason, this particular bar really set his teeth on edge.

It was nothing he could get a firm grip on. But by this point Xander's sixth sense about such things - from *years* of living as a slave and as the Soldier Guy - it was developed to the point where he knew that for whatever reason, this place was ill-omened.

Xander and Oz had gone to the bar where Monica and her friends were after the game. Xander's personal guards had trailed them, of course; even so close to 9/11, Cleburne wasn't about to relax security that much. But one thing had led to another and before too long, Monica and Xander had split off from the rest of the group.

"Alex, what do you want me to get you from the bar?" Monica asked, reaching for her purse. She had decided by now that she really liked the guy she'd met at the game today.

"Whatever you're having," Xander replied stiffly, the sense of wrongness around here still assaulting him from all sides.

The blonde woman frowned a little, and went up to the bartender. "House special, two of them." she said meaningfully.

The barman nodded, he knew what that meant. He quickly mixed two beers together with a special additive; one that had once been used by a UC Sunnydale campus bar owner, to turn his patrons into cavemen.

Here and now, of course, nothing so extreme was either intended or desired. This version of that mystical drug merely released conscious inhibitions, sort of like Doximall or GHB. And for most people, that wasn't a problem; in fact, it helped them hook up with the opposite sex and have fun. Not to mention spend more money on drinks. It acted as kind of a super-alcohol, doing more to remove inhibitions than normal.

Unfortunately however, Xander Harris was not 'most people'. He was unique, in more ways than one. Living as he did, he was more self-confident and assertive than normal people. And so the tainted beer acted to amplify this assertiveness, making Xander more aggressive.

{What's happening to me?} Harris thought foggily after drinking the doctored alcohol, looking around. Then he stared at Monica, instinct telling him she was responsible for whatever it was that was going on. "What have you?"

"It's just a little something to help you relax. I promise, it's fine - I've had it lots of times myself," the dancer said honestly.

Xander would have begged to disagree, but at that moment his base desires won out. And so instead, he laughed. Mystically inebriated, he laughed and laughed.

Harris then focused back on Monica. She asked in concern, "Are you all right?"

"Never better." Xander decided to press the point as he had little time. "Monica, I need to be straight with you. We don't have much time and whatever happens tonight, is just for tonight. You'll almost certainly never see me again after this, for more reasons than one. So that being said, what do you say we just skip the preliminaries and head back to your place?"

Monica blinked, not expecting Xander to be quite so forward. But then, she wasn't looking for a relationship: tonight, she was just looking for a good time with her date. Tomorrow could take care of itself, Monica was more concerned with the here and now.

"Fine with me, Alex."

The mystically-influenced human quickly found Oz, and told him that he and Monica were heading back to her place. The werewolf frowned, because he knew how devastated Harris had been after Rachael's murder only a few months ago. But then Daniel just simply nodded and informed the head of the security detail of the change in plans, and watched his friend and female companion leave.

{I hope he knows what he's doing. And that Xander knows enough to keep his mouth shut about this, if Fred ever asks what we got up to this weekend. }

 **The apartment of Monica Carter, Athens, Georgia. Later that night**

Xander looked around the room, it was for the most part about what he would expect of a co-ed's apartment. Various posters lined the wall. There was a closed laptop on the corner desk, and the chair at the desk had a pair of ice skates hanging from it.

{At least there's no stuffed animals, well - none that I can see. They're probably in the closet.} He thought to himself. He then stood up straight, relaxing and enjoying the moment. {Right then. Let's get on with it. I want this now. }

The room was silent, except for the ticking of a wall clock. Monica then broke the awkward silence, "Can I get you anyth-"

What followed was almost like something out of bad porno movie, as the man grabbed the blonde dancer and they started making out. Things heated up so fast that almost instantly their clothes went flying, and the duo had to take it into the bedroom.

The events of the next few hours were something that Monica would never forget, no matter how long she lived or how many other men she touched. Because as Faith and Rachael could have told her, had they still been alive, Xander Harris was quite the party animal in bed if he wanted to be. In the end though, the drug effects wore off as expected and the Timetripper became himself once more.

{WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?} He threw himself off of her in horror and shame. Xander then quickly shook the dance team member awake. "Monica? Monica!"

"Huh?" she said groggily. "Wha' happen?"

"I just screwed the hell out of you," Xander snarled. "What the hell was in that beer you drugged me with?"

Monica blinked fuzzily, still in the throes of a post-coital daze. "Um, I'm not sure about the exact recipe but like I said, it's perfectly safe. Everyone says it really gives them a great buzz."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the man demanded roughly.

The nude blonde finally seemed able to understand that her lover was now clean of the drug-laced alcohol and pissed at her. "It means it's a great way to relax and let loose. No long-term effects," she explained.

"Sex doesn't have long-term effects?" Xander asked in disbelief.

"Well." Monica started to say hesitantly. She pointed at the waste basket near the bed, several used condoms were visible in there.

Xander found himself battling several different emotions at once. Anger was clearly present; however, he remembered that he had been that age once, his decision-making abilities hadn't been that clear-headed either when it came to partying. {Before I got my 'insight', that could very well have been me.} He thought to himself. There was also sadness, Rachael still was strong in his thoughts and his having slept with another woman so soon after her death just seemed wrong to him, no matter how under the influence he had been.

Harris couldn't help it, the angry look he sent the woman was mixed with more than a little sadness. "Take my advice, Monica. Don't ever go back to that bar as pretty soon it's gonna get raided and shut down, and the owners might be able to guess that that was all thanks to you. And something else: the next guy you just want to loosen up a little like that, he might be a psycho loony and decide to kill you afterwards! So stay away from the college drug scene from now on, if you know what's good for you."

Bare-ass naked, Xander left the bedroom without another word, grabbed his clothes and then headed for the front door after getting dressed. He ignored Monica's fervent pleading to stay and simply said to the security detail, "Get me the hell outta here."

 **Khvajeh Ba Odin, Afghanistan. September 9, 2001**

The guard nodded as the two journalists passed by him into the building, with their guide trailing behind them. When the door closed behind them, he unslung his AK-47 as the other guard did likewise.

A pickup truck pulled up, and several more guards jumped out of the back. They took up positions around the building.

After about a minute or so shouts could be heard from within, followed by gunshots. A loud explosion shook the building. After a few seconds, the door flung open with smoking billowing out. One of the journalists came running out clutching a pistol.

The guards didn't give him any chance to fire at them. They gunned down the terrorist immediately, not even offering him a chance to surrender. His body flopped around for a few seconds, before slumping to the ground.

The guard rushed inside, meeting the guide as he was coming out. "Is he all right? Did it work?"

The guide nodded. "Yes, he's safe, it was just as we were warned."

The guard grinned. "Praise be to Allah. They will pay for this!"

 **STW safehouse, Athens, Georgia. Not long afterwards**

{I have *got* to be the friggin' butt-monkey of the entire damn universe.}

If Dr. Christine Reynolds had been there and been able to read Xander's emotional state right now, she would have been rather astonished at what she would have perceived. There was a sense of disappointment, anger and resentment at events of the previous night. And combined with a feeling of betrayal and disrespect, all this did not make for the healthiest of attitudes.

But at the same time, Harris couldn't deny he felt more relaxed and buzzed than he'd ever felt since coming back from the dead in Urbana. The giving and receiving of recent sexual pleasure had truly made him feel *alive*. Getting laid had obviously had a somewhat beneficial effect on his physical form; and Cleburne, concerned as always about Xander's monastic tendencies, probably would have been happy with the outcome if not the method used to achieve it.

If only the same could be said about the former slave's mental state, however.

Xander already knew this was one secret he could not share with his keepers. Oz maybe, but not the rest of the Siberians. They would insist on much stricter security protocols, Joshua especially, and living in STW's cage (by any other name) was already onerous enough. Besides, forewarned was forearmed; now that he knew what could happen, Xander was pretty sure that it wouldn't ever happen again with the proper precautions.

Even if that logic seemed to resemble locking the stable door after the horse had bolted far too much for his comfort.

And then, as Xander stared in the bathroom mirror, he suddenly realized what today was. His birthday, so to speak.

His mind and body were 25 years old today, even if the date on his birth certificate didn't match up. And just like this time last year when the Wizard had explained to him the situation, Xander had a moment of introspection to process how it all felt.

{Holy shit. Hard to believe I actually made it to the old quarter-century mark; there was a time I didn't expect to live past high school. Well, let's look at it this way: I just got one hell of a birthday present a few hours ago.}

Chuckling humorlessly Xander splashed some water on his face. Breathing deeply, he then forced himself to put aside the tumultuous events of yesterday. They were irrelevant for now, and the man knew he needed to focus.

A little over 48 hours from now, a gruesome and tragic event that would claim thousands of American lives would hopefully be erased from the pages of history. And he, Alexander Lavelle Harris, the one-time Zeppo of the Scooby gang, would be there to see it happen.

What would happen after that, Xander didn't know. But suddenly, he couldn't wait to find out.

 **A place where nothing is as what it seems. Later that night**

"No, I've never thought of Xander like that," Buffy said to Faith as she staked a vampire in what appeared to be one of Sunnydale's cemeteries.

Faith looked at her sister Slayer. "Come on, not once? Never? Even when you got all hot and sweaty, with no kill to take the edge off?"

Buffy shook her head. "He's Xander."

Suddenly, they were standing in front of huge building. It took Buffy a few seconds to place it, but then she realized it was the Pentagon. {What the-?}

Faith's demeanor changed. She folded her arms and glared at the building. "Well, they better treat him right or I'm coming back and kicking their asses. And you blow this second chance, I'll kick your ass as well B!" she said, shifting her glare to Buffy.

The blonde Slayer held up her arms in defense. "Hey, wait a minute." she started to protest.

Only to stop when Buffy realized she wasn't in front of the Pentagon anymore.

Faith was gone. Buffy found herself sitting in an airliner, first class seat from the looks of it. All around her, there was chaos and screaming. Some passengers were rising from their seats while others were trying to shrink into them. She stood up and looked at the source of the screams.

Rushing down the aisle of the plane was a group of men. Buffy could see they were carrying something, and someone that looked vaguely familiar to her was leading them. They rushed to where Buffy was standing.

"Out of the way!" the lead man shouted.

A moment later, Buffy found herself standing on the street in front of Angel's old mansion. With a chill, she realized this was the morning of the Acathla incident. The Slayer then heard rustling to her right. She raised her sword and as she remembered from the dim ancient past, a 17-year-old Xander Harris popped out of the bushes.

"Cavalry's here. Cavalry's a frightened guy with a rock, but it's here," he said right on cue.

"If you wanna consider a boy with a busted arm the cavalry," Buffy muttered.

"Don't worry, this time there might just be some real cavalry, definitely more than me with my busted arm here," Xander replied as he dropped the rock and appeared to grow years older.

"I've been here before," the blonde Chosen One said, figuring out she was having a Slayer dream. "Why are you here?" She stared at Xander. "You're dead," Buffy finished up in a sad tone.

Xander just smiled at his former friend and romantic crush, as his neck started bleeding. Suddenly Sunnydale vanished again, and Buffy was on a runway tarmac. A jet liner was nearby with a staircase pushed up against the hatchway. And yet now, there was a dark-haired girl with her.

"Damn, how did I get here?" the stranger said, looking around.

Before Buffy could reply, the hatchway opened up and the group of men from earlier in the dream came rushing down the stairs. Buffy could now see they were carrying someone. She saw a nearby ambulance have its doors flung open by paramedics.

"Over here!" they shouted to the group of men.

The group came down the staircase, and hurried by the two girls. Buffy realized one of the men in the middle of the group was Xander, the front of his shirt stained with blood. {Now this is odd.}

"You're Buffy, right?" the other girl asked, pulling Buffy's attention from Xander.

"Yeah. Who are you?" Buffy asked. Usually, she knew whoever it was she was dreaming about.

"I'm Kennedy, the Slayer in Cleveland," the younger Slayer explained, looking around. "Damn, I'm having my first Slayer dream aren't I? I knew it had to happen sooner or later! Kick ass..."

Kennedy's words just making her feel old, Buffy turned her attention back to Xander; who was climbing into the ambulance. It started to drive off. Buffy started running after it, "Xander, Xander wait!"

"What do you want?"

Buffy turned and saw Harris somehow standing right next to her. Kennedy started hurrying to get where they were.

"Xander, I just wanted..." Her voice trailed off, as Buffy was suddenly unsure what to say.

Harris cocked his head, as once again blood came seeping out of his injured neck. "Change, heralded by three. First Slayer told you that, remember? You need to think about what you'll say when you finally meet the real me."

Buffy was confused now. "Real you?" she asked as Kennedy came up next to her.

Suddenly, the girls were no longer on the airport tarmac. They were in a mountainous valley surrounded by Bedouins.

"Cool!" Kennedy said in wonder. "Zabuto told me all about these dreams, but I-"

Suddenly, the ground started shaking. The Bedouins started running around in terror, hurriedly packing up to leave. Nearby, a couple of Toyota pickup trucks filled with huddled mujahideen soldiers drove down a road at a high rate of speed.

"Naughty, naughty, they angered the big bad Uncle."

Buffy and Kennedy turned at the voice. "Drusilla," the blonde said at once with a voice full of dull hatred, remembering what had happened to Kendra all those years ago.

"Hey, that's the crazy vampire Sam warned me about!" Kennedy said urgently. She was suddenly holding a stake in her hand.

"Silly girl," Drusilla said affectionately. "It's just a dream, your li'l stick" She stepped forward and impaled herself on the stake. Dru then stepped back, with the stake in her heart. "does nothing except show how pretty my eyes are."

"What do you want?" Buffy asked. This was quickly turning into old home week dream for her.

Drusilla looked at the fleeing pickup trucks. "They've gone and done it now, they 'ave. The big bad Uncle's going to be most stern with them. All cross like Miss Edith, without her tea and cake." She turned and looked at the Slayers. "He's watching you, he is, and he's going to come to you. He's ignored you for so long, but the kitten turned wildcat is gonna bring 'im where he belongs. And nothing will ever be the same again."

Suddenly, there were massive explosions all around them. Buffy and Kennedy lost sight of Drusilla in the clouds of dirt being thrown up.

And just as suddenly, Buffy bolted upright in her bed at 1630 Revello Drive.

"Damn it," she muttered. The Chosen One leaned over and picked up the phone on the nightstand. She then dialed the number she knew by heart. After waiting a few seconds, the Slayer spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Giles, it's Buffy, I need to see you first thing in the morning. Yeah, Slayer dream, and this one's a doozy. Makes the nightmare I had when I thought John Tesh was chasing me around in a devil's costume look tame by comparison!"

Next to her, the digital clock on the nightstand changed over to midnight on the morning of September 10, 2001.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

**Part Fifty a**

Author's note of explanation: each scene will have two times attached to it. The first time will be the time at the location of the events of the scene. The second time will be time of the Atlantic seaboard of the United States, as the events of 9/11 hinge around events there.

An additional note for those of you interested. When I was originally writing this part, the song "Gortoz a Ran J'Attends" by Lisa Gerrard and Denez Prigent, from the Blackhawk Down soundtrack was running through my mind. I think it fits the overall tone of this section and if you want, please consider it the soundtrack for this particular section.

 **Cleveland, Ohio. September 10, 2001. 3:00 AM local time, 3:00 AM EDT**

At about the same time as Buffy Summers picked up the phone to call her Watcher in Sunnydale California, another Watcher was hearing from his own Slayer. In Cleveland, the clock read three hours later, but fortunately the Jamaican man was quite used to working late at nights.

"SAM!" The female shout rang throughout the warehouse.

Sam Zabuto looked up from the desk where he was finishing up the notes in his diary from tonight's debriefing of his Slayer. "Kennedy?" he called back.

Sam opened the door, and in stumbled his charge. "What is the cause of your distress?" the Watcher asked calmly.

"Slayer dream. My first one," Kennedy explained, somehow looking both freaked and excited at the same time.

Zabuto nodded. "Of course, I imagine it was quite an experience."

"Tell me about it! That other Slayer, what's-her-name Summers, she was in it. She seemed to know the people in it, much more than I did. Called several of them by name," Kennedy responded frantically. "But funny thing is, she was really there! I wasn't just dreaming about her, I'm sure of it. It was her Slayer dream as much as mine!"

Zabuto raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it was actually Miss Summers, and not just an image of her?"

Kennedy nodded her head. "Yeah, yeah, definitely. That crazy vampire, Drusilla, she was there and she was just something we dreamed up, but Summers was the real deal."

Sam ignored the emotional pang arising from the memory of his lost charge, Kendra. "Two Slayers sharing the same dream? This is most rare, in fact I have only heard of it just once before," Zabuto said worriedly, recalling Wesley's diary entry of when Buffy and Faith had simultaneously dreamed of both Xander Harris and the vampire called Angel, just before the Mayor's ascension back in 1999. "Obviously, I must record this." He waved at the chair opposite his desk. "Please, sit down and tell me everything that you and Buffy Summers experienced."

Kennedy hesitated for a second. "We should call this Buffy girl first, don't ya think? I got the feeling there was more to the dream for her than me."

Zabuto nodded. "Of course, but it's just midnight in that part of the country. I'll contact Rupert if something urgent is revealed by the dream, otherwise I'll wait until at a decent hour, after you tell me all about your part of the experience."

 **Mexico City, Mexico. 3:00 AM local time, 4:00 AM EDT**

"Oy, bartender. Another one!" Spike shouted as he slammed down an empty shot glass. Drusilla leaned her head on his shoulder. The other patrons of the crowded demon bar gave the vampire duo plenty of room, not wanting to risk their wrath.

"Be right there," the bartender replied as he hurried to pour another shot.

These two vampires had been travelling quite a bit since their time in Chicago and Marseilles, more often than not being hunted by someone. Those hunters were determined and numerous. Spike was sure that it was more than just one group as well. There had been far too many close calls.

Spike thought they had lost the hunters, at least for now. Of course, they'd had to make several quick exits from different cities in the attempt to lose them.

"Spike-y," Drusilla spoke in a pouting voice.

"Yeah, Dru?" Spike responded.

"The day is coming."

Spike shook his head. "Dru, luv, we've still got plenty of time before that big old nasty sun shows its face..."

Dru nuzzled Spike's neck, causing him to trail off in a haze of pleasure. She may have been a psychotic mass murderer, but here and now she truly did love her boyfriend. "No, the day, the day the prunes in old uniforms'll talk about for years to come. We won't be there."

Spike frowned at that. Dru had clearly seen something, vision-wise. "Right then, princess, share with Daddy. What did you see?"

However, Drusilla didn't get a chance to answer.

"Spike. William the Bloody."

Spike looked up in response to his name being called. There were seven vampires facing him and Drusilla in a semi-circle. And they had their game faces on.

"You're going to make us rich," the leader of the group said, a cocky look on his demonic features.

"Hey, you can try to take my dosh, mate, but all you'll get fer the trouble is ending up dust 'n ashes," Spike growled back.

The vampires chuckled at that. "Please, you can keep whatever money you've got. You think any of us are interested in small change? We're after the big prize. And you've got one hell of a bounty on your head."

Spike raised an eyebrow at that. "Of course I do, I'm William the Bloody. I'm a bloody legend!" he bragged.

"You're five million dollars worth of money, that's all I care about."

Spike smiled at that. "Five million, eh? Nice to know someone values my arse properly."

One of the vampires nodded at Drusilla. "She's worth ten million."

"What?!" Spike felt momentarily torn. His ego was bruised while at the same time, he was proud of Drusilla's worth and reputation. His pride quickly won out, oddly enough. "Oh, hell, doesn't matter. We're a team, like Abbott and Costello, Martin and Lewis."

"Bonnie and Clyde," one of the other vampires supplied.

"Yeah, damn right!" Spike shouted happily. "We're the bloody Dream Team, we are, that'll be together forever!"

"Fine, you'll both go out as a team when we give your ashes over to the people with the money. Then, it's pure luxury for all the rest of us."

Spike glared at the vampire who was doing the talking. "Problem with that though, you little pissant."

"And what would that be?"

"Silly boy. Dust can't spend money," Drusilla answered for Spike. The peroxide-blonde vampire took the opportunity to lash out with his left hand, and a stake was suddenly in the talkative vampire's chest. He blinked his eyes in surprise as he exploded into dust.

"Right then, six more of you to go," Spike said with an evil grin.

"Probably more than that," the barman said from behind the counter.

"What?" Spike asked in surprise, but not deviating his gaze from his opponents, who were now all growling like animals.

"People hear things in this bar all the time." He nodded at the other patrons, who clearly had heard about the bounty as well. They were also beginning to form up around Spike and Drusilla.

"Bollocks," was the last thing William the Bloody said, before all the screaming started.

Twenty minutes later, a bloodied Spike and Drusilla staggered out of the bar. "Well, I appreciate a spot of violence as much as the next bloke, but bloody hell, luv. That last wanker was almost too much for me," Spike announced, wiping the blood from his face.

"The pack, the packs cry for us," Dru commented dreamily.

"Don't you mean cry because of us, poodle?" Spike asked.

"No," Drusilla said, suddenly in a lucid mood. "Someone wants us, dear heart, bad enough to spend millions of dollars. The child in America. His pack wants us. They're powerful, they are."

Spike raised an eyebrow at that. "Not the first time the bigwigs have wanted our heads, ducks," he observed.

"But never an Uncle before," Dru commented, her lucidity clearly of limited duration. "The big bad Uncle has many friends 'n bank accounts."

Spike nodded at that, as he started to lead his paramour down the street. "Well yeah, the reward money *does* seem to be flowing a mite too freely for my taste." The blonde-haired Brit had no way of knowing that Cleburne had, in a moment of irony, taken some of the money captured from the destruction of the Order of Taraka and dedicated it to the price on Spike's head.

"The stars say we need to be strong, stronger than ever before," Dru announced as she danced a little bit.

Spike followed along. "I know, honey bunny, and that sounds great to me. But how?"

"The gem," was all that Dru said, a look of madness in her eyes as she thought of their new goal and prize.

 **Headquarters of the Indian Navy, New Delhi, India. 3:00 PM local time, 5:00 AM EDT**

The lieutenant commander wiped his hands on his uniform slacks, as he entered the office. He was nervous; but then, naval officers of his standing were always nervous when in the presence of one of the service's highest admirals. He advanced to the desk in the middle of the office and saluted crisply.

"Reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant Commander Manekshaw. I understand you've noticed something that you think I need to know about?" the admiral said.

"Yes, sir. Reports over the last week or so have indicated increased activity in the waters near our shores," Manekshaw said.

The admiral nodded. "Go on."

"It's clear that the Americans have deployed five carrier battle groups in the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf. This is well beyond their normal allotment of two groups."

"Perhaps it's just that some of the groups have come to relieve the others, and the old ones haven't deployed back to America yet?" was the older sailor's response.

"I considered that sir, however three of the battle groups have made emergency deployments in last six weeks. Also the two on station already, they have not been in the area long enough to be relieved. And there is something else."

"Go on."

"The aircraft carrier named Kitty Hawk has a large number of helicopters based on it. Army helicopters from what we can gather, and U.S. Special Forces units are said to be on board. Also, its aircraft have been spread out among the other carriers," Manekshaw explained.

The admiral leaned back behind his desk. "Didn't the Americans do something similar when they sent troops into Haiti in 1994?"

"Yes, sir. The fact that they're doing it now, suggests they expect to send troops into combat very soon. You wouldn't want to leave such troops at sea very long if you could avoid it."

"Indeed. All right, what else do you have?"

Manekshaw opened a folder he had been carrying. "Increased deployments to Diego Garcia. The Oman government canceled some exercises with the British because the Americans are deploying planes to their airfields. There are also rumors of American officers in the Central Asian countries."

"So they're going to attack someone? Who?" the admiral asked.

"They have many enemies in this part of the world, sir. They attacked Afghanistan three years ago. Iran is always of concern to the Americans, and of course..." the lieutenant commander let his voice trail off.

"Iraq," the admiral finished for him. "The new President may view its president as unfinished business. Also, they may want to seem strong after the incident they had with the Chinese earlier this year." Nodding, he picked up the phone on his desk.

"Yes, call and make an appointment for me to meet with the Minister of Defense. Today if at all possible."

 **Number 10 Downing Street, London, England. 12:00 AM local time, 7:00 AM EDT**

Alec Cummings stared at the map being pointed to by the American naval officer.

From what he'd heard, the Yanks were planning something very ambitious. He was surprised now by just how ambitious it was. Of course, he'd had a lot of surprises over the last year or so. Cummings had been sure that his career was over after the Watcher fiasco last year, regarding that ill-planned and ill-fated kidnapping of Xander Harris during the spring of 2000. At the time, he was sure the influence of the Watchers in Whitehall would reach out to MI-6 and hang him out to dry.

However, Cummings had forgotten that this 'New Labour' government seemed less receptive to old school pressure than previous governments.

Then he had heard of some kind of shake-up within the Council, and shortly afterwards he'd been transferred to become the new Deputy Director of Operations.

Earlier tonight had come this summons to Downing Street. Cummings had been there before, but always as part of a delegation. This summons though had been just for him and the Director. It seemed that the Americans had a briefing in store. Actually, they had a proposal. Well, to be brutally honest, they were telling Blair what they were going to do during the next few days, followed by the why he needed to play ball as the colonial saying went.

It was quite a change from what they had come to expect from the Americans over the past few years. There was no doubt they could do it, the problem that present company had right now was why.

The Prime Minister spoke up, "This is all very ambitious, but still, how do you know al-Qaeda is going to do what you say it will? You've presented many different things that bear exploring, but you've tied them all up into this conclusion. Sir Richard's people" Blair said, nodding at Alec's superior who was sitting next to him. "have heard nothing about this. And they *are* pretty well informed about such events."

The American naval officer nodded. Cummings noted he wore two stars. But before he could answer, a bald, bull-headed civilian answered for him.

"We have a source of information that started us looking at all the separate pieces of information. Once we did, everything fit."

"Secretary Armitage, you know of course that a faulty assumption right at the start of an investigation taints the entire chain of process," Sir Richard Dearlove said.

"We have the utmost confidence in this source," Richard L. Armitage replied simply.

"Indeed? Then I'd like to personally meet this man for myself," Dearlove declared, his eyes narrowing.

"You can't. But Cummings here has already met him," Armitage replied, nodding his head towards the spy.

Alec blinked in surprise. "I have?"

Armitage nodded. "April of last year, at the Army-Navy Club in Washington. Colonel Cleburne said that you'll no doubt remember this particular individual."

Cummings' eyes widened as he made the connection. Cleburne had been right, that day stuck out in the British spy's mind. He quickly realized just who the source was that the Deputy Secretary of State was referring to.

"Oh, bloody hell. HE was the one who told you about all this?" Alec managed to ask.

The Americans just silently nodded their heads.

Cummings' superior looked at him. "You know who he's referring to?" Dearlove asked mildly, but Alec knew better to be fooled by his calm expression.

Cummings nodded. "Er, yes sir. You may remember how I briefed you about it last year, the difficulties with the Watchers and all."

The Director of the SIS frowned. "You're serious? That's who their source is?"

"Sir Richard?" Blair asked in confusion.

Armitage spoke up, "He also tipped us off about the Cole attack last December, and a number of other items that have been confirmed."

"I see. So, there's effectively no doubt then." the MI-6 Director sighed.

"Would someone care to explain to me who the devil it is that you're all talking about?" Blair demanded sharply.

Dearlove nodded to Cummings. Alec took a deep breath and said, "Yes, Prime Minister. But I'm afraid this will take some explaining."

 **White House basement, Washington D.C. 7:30 AM local time, 7:30 AM EDT**

"I don't want him here," Brian L. Stafford, the Director of the U.S. Secret Service, said firmly. "1600's a helluva big white target. Can't miss it when you fly over Washington. I want him at Mount Weather, or Offutt."

The room was full of governmental officials. Several cups of coffee lined the table around which they all sat. The room smelled of impatience and frustration too, the way it almost always did during this type of meeting.

"We've had this conversation before," Andrew Card, the White House chief of staff, said wearily. "And like I said to you then, the Man's already made up his mind not to go to either of those places."

"How about Looking Glass? We can put him on it late tonight. The Air Force can provide escorts," the Secret Service chief said stubbornly. "Hell, we can pretend he's still going to Sarasota."

Card shook his head. "No, we've already cancelled the trip to Florida because of a cold. What do we tell the media, that he had a miraculous recovery?"

"You have to admit, his presence does complicate matters," the FBI representative said.

"How?" That was the Air Force officer in the room. "No matter where he goes, we've got to defend him. We're already putting a CAP over Washington. He'll be here in the basement, and it's been rated to withstand even a direct nuclear hit."

"But an airliner crashing into the building-" Stafford started to say angrily.

"Still packs less punch than a nuke. He'd survive it," the Air Force officer interrupted simply.

The chief of staff spoke up again, "Look gentlemen, the issue is decided. He's not budging. Besides, POTUS wants to spend today working on his speech to Congress, not flying around the country."

That was met with nods around the table. Card continued on, "However, there are others we need to be sure are protected. The First Lady and other members of the First Family come to mind."

"All the daughters are taken care of. They'll be taken to secure locations tomorrow, by 6 am Eastern Standard Time at the latest. Mrs. Bush, I had hoped to remove her from Washington with the President," Stafford sighed.

"Well, that's not going to happen. Still, I suspect it might be best if the First Lady was somewhere other than the White House tomorrow. Perhaps we could fly her to Camp David?" Card suggested.

"Flying her out might lead to unwelcome questions. We can't land a helicopter on the lawn without the media noticing," the CIA representative warned. "I know it's only a slight chance, but there's still a possibility it might affect the plans of the tangos in question."

"Fine, then we motorcade her to another site and have the helicopter waiting for her there. If we do it quietly enough and at the right time, it should go unnoticed," Stafford said.

"Good, then that's settled," the chief of staff said. "All right, let's move on - I have to meet with the President shortly. I know he'll ask about the arrangements we've made for continuity of government. Have the arrangements been made yet for the Vice-President?"

 **Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, Richmond, Virginia. 8:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT**

Colonel Cleburne made his way from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand. He could hear the television playing in the living room. He was surprised though to hear a Japanese voice shouting about the whirling chains of death.

He walked to the living room where the big screen TV was showing an Asian man navigating his way through a really strange obstacle course. Watching the show was Xander Harris, with a look of half-amusement and half-amazement on his face.

"Hey kid, I see you found my videotapes," Cleburne said.

"What am I watching, exactly?" Xander said over the voice of the Japanese announcer. By this time his recent...experience...with Monica Carter, the Buffy lookalike, was no longer featuring in his thoughts.

"Sakuke," Cleburne answered the question. Xander stared at him with a blank look. "Ninja Warrior."

Cleburne laughed at the other man's expression. "You gotta expand your horizons, kid. It's a Japanese TV show about a competition to complete a series of obstacle courses. The course isn't exactly a normal one, as you can see. It's an event over there that everyone looks forward to."

"How did you find out about it?" Xander asked.

"A couple of years ago, I was in Japan when it aired. I got hooked. I have a friend at the embassy in Tokyo record it for me, and he sends me the tapes."

"You're a strange man, Cleburne," Xander commented.

"Yeah, well, you're one to talk," Cleburne shot back. "I thought you would sleep in. Last chance before the big show and all."

"Couldn't sleep. What are you doing up? You were up late watching HBO," Xander observed. "How was that movie?"

"Band of Brothers? It was good. Looking forward to the next part next Sunday," Cleburne replied as he sat down on a chair facing the TV. "Yeah, that's going to leave a mark," he said as one of the contestants fell off a rolling log onto a cushioned cover landing.

"You're about to start World War 3 tomorrow, and you're looking forward to a movie next week. You're pretty ho-hum about the whole thing," Xander said as the contestant who had fallen was interviewed by the host of the show.

"Well, I've done just about all I can. Last thing to do is the final briefing. That'll be this afternoon at Andrews. I've got a chopper lined up to fly us there later this morning. From there, we'll go on to Boston to catch our plane."

On the TV screen another contestant started the course as Xander turned his attention back to it. "Is your life really like this? War is something that you're completely blasé about?"

"Not the first one I've been involved in, kid. Only difference is this one will be a lot more public than I'm used to. Besides, how many end of the world situations have you faced?"

Xander nodded. "Point taken. So who are the contestants?" Harris pointed at the screen.

"Average Joes, mostly. Students, office workers, gas station attendants. The only fella who finished all the stages is a fisherman," Cleburne answered.

"Only one of 'em finished all the stages?" Xander asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just how hard is the course after this one?"

"Just watch, you'll see."

The two of them watched the show for a little bit. Xander suddenly spoke up. "Hey, so how do you go about becoming a contestant on this show anyway?"

"Kid, please." Cleburne rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on.

 **Rome, Italy. 3:20 PM local time, 9:20 AM EDT**

The Immortal took a sip from the cappuccino his servant had recently brought to him. Outside his apartment window, he could hear the afternoon sounds of the Eternal City.

For his kind, it was early. Most demons and vampires weren't comfortable when so many humans were out and about, what with the numbers stacked against them. It made it harder for them to hide and blend in. However for the Immortal, being as he looked completely human, this was a time when he could get quite a bit accomplished instead. He looked at the laptop computer on the antique table in front of him.

"This is most distressing," he muttered to himself. The man then looked up and called for his assistant of the moment.

The man in question hurried in. "Sir, you summoned me?"

The Immortal nodded at the laptop. "What's all this about Milan?"

The lackey paled, then went ahead and answered anyway. "The smuggling ring that had been set up has been destroyed, sir. The vampire Lucien has been eliminated."

"How? I can't believe that the carabinieri have become competent enough to deal with my organization."

"They should not be able to, sir, at least not by themselves. However, I'm informed they had assistance from the Catholic Church on this one," the assistant explained, feeling his life expectancy shortening by degrees.

The Immortal grunted. "This is getting tiresome. In the past, it was expected that every once in a while the humans would get lucky. It couldn't be helped, you know, and it also served to cull the lesser members of our kind. The complacent and weak were expunged from the ranks, and good riddance to them. But Lucien was neither."

The Immortal was silent for several moments, and the assistant knew better than to speak. "We have a source in the Milan police?" the Immortal finally asked.

"Yes sir, quite a few as a matter of fact," was the quick answer.

"Kill roughly half of them."

"Sir?" The assistant was clearly surprised by the way the order was given so nonchalantly.

"You heard me. Do it in a gruesome way, and make sure the bodies are found quickly. I want the others to know what's happened, and more importantly why." The Immortal looked up at the assistant. "Is there a reason why you're still here?"

"I was just waiting to see if you had any further instructions for me, sir," the man stammered out.

"I don't. Now go see to my orders."

Without a further word, the assistant hurried out of the room.

"Now, what to do about the Church?" the Immortal muttered to himself.

 **Chicago, Illinois. 9:40 AM local time, 10:40 AM EDT**

"Now Garrett, I know this is your first day and all, so if you don't understand anything just let me know," Officer Ted Ball of the Chicago Police Department said.

"No problem. And call me Trish," his new partner replied as they walked down the halls of the police station.

Officer Ball nodded. "Okay, Trish, then it's Ted. Now look, this beat isn't too bad. Downtown and all isn't nearly as bad as some of the projects. We don't get that many domestic calls, mostly lots of drunk and disorderlies. Those traders and suits like to cut loose when they get out of the office. 'Course, you might have an easier time dealing with them than I do."

Garrett nodded. "I can handle myself, Ted, I had seven brothers growing up on the farm."

Ball glanced at the rookie. "The farmer's daughter, huh? I should have guessed. Tell me this isn't your first day in the big city?"

Trish shook her head in amusement. "Heck, no. I went to college here and attended the academy."

"You're from where again, Iowa? So why Chicago?" Ted asked. They got to the door that led outside.

"Just seemed right. I wanted something new. I wanted to help out and make my own mark in the world, not always be known as Gill Garrett's daughter," she said as they walked towards the police cruiser they would use today.

Officer Trish Garrett had no idea that quite shortly, her hopes would come true in a very dramatic fashion.

 **Vatican City, Italy. 5:15 PM local time, 11:15 AM EDT**

Monsignor Bentallo peered at the computer screen to make sure he'd spelled the words he had just typed correctly. Sometimes, typing reports in several different languages could be difficult. On occasion, he had caught himself typing the report into a language the recipient couldn't understand. He had not done it on purpose; well, other than that one time as a joke...

He glanced back to the notes he had taken during the conversation with the priest in Milan. The Catholic official started typing again.

[The authorities on the scene confirmed that the vampires had an extensive smuggling operation in place, extending into Africa and the Balkans. However, based on the records recovered, it also appears that the organization was just a small part of a much larger one.]

Bentallo stopped for a second and leaned back. He looked up at the clock.

{I should call the Siberians after dinner, it'd be early afternoon for them over there. I wonder if they've heard anything that might tie into this smuggling operation we've just dealt with?}

Bentallo nodded to himself and picked up the phone. "Yes, would you be kind enough to let the switchboard know that I'll need to make some phone calls to the United States soon? Good, thank you."

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. 11:30 AM local time, 11:30 AM EDT**

Esther Marcum cradled the phone between her head and neck. "Yes, I've talked to the White House. They say everything's ready on their end. Don't worry about it. They know what they're doing."

She sighed, Cleburne sometimes had a lot of trouble delegating things, and she was getting that a lot today.

"Look, I know you're nervous, we all are, but you can't interfere in other people's areas of expertise. Stick to your own," Marcum said to Cleburne in a way that only someone who had known him for years could. "Tell you what, if you want I can hook you up with Rumsfeld. You two can talk, he's already called me five times to ask if you've got everything ready. Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."

A secretary came in and laid a note on Esther's desk. Esther nodded her head in thanks. "Everyone's on edge, Cleburne, everyone wants the show to go right. It's perfectly understandable. So that said, see to your teams. They're the main concern right now. Mr. Howard's with you? Good, keep an eye on him personally."

Esther looked down at the piece of paper. "Call me when the briefing's done, I need to talk to Monsignor Bentallo. Apparently he's got something he wants us to look at."

 **Cleveland, Ohio. 11:45 AM local time, 11:45 AM EDT**

Sam Zabuto took a deep gulp from the cup of tea he had been imbibing try to shake the sleep from his eyes. It had been a long night, listening to Kennedy as she described her Slayer dream in great detail to him. He'd then had to write it up and enter it into his Watcher diary. This was followed by calling London, contacting the headquarters of the Watchers Council and verbally forwarding the report to them.

This in turn had been followed by a phone conference with a conclave of his colleagues as the experts talked about the ramifications of the dream. There were as many interpretations as there were experts though, unfortunately. That of course had led to extended debates. None of which had helped Zabuto with his lack of sleep. He wasn't as young as he once was, after all.

The conference had finally ended, only to be followed by an extended conversation with Roger Wyndham-Pryce on how Kennedy was doing. That didn't take too terribly long though. Zabuto was able to get some sleep afterwards; however, he didn't want to hit the sack yet as he had one more thing to do.

The other Chosen One Buffy Summers had figured prominently in Kennedy's dream. To Zabuto, it was almost certain that his Slayer and Miss Summers had been dreaming in tandem. He was curious what the California Slayer had come away with from the dream.

Also, he was worried that the Watchers Council would not bother to tell Rupert Giles and his charge about what he'd shared with them. There had been a decided bias against communicating with them recently.

Zabuto knew he was not to contact Giles, but he decided to do so anyway. He glanced at the clock. It was still early in California, but not that early. He put down the cup of tea and reached for the phone.

A few seconds later, he heard the phone ringing on the other end. "Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."

"Rupert, Samuel Zabuto here. Did your girl have a Slayer dream last night?"

"She did, as I believe yours did as well," Giles replied. "I was just about to contact the Council to learn more."

"I doubt that they would have been very forthcoming with you, my friend. The reasons of course do not bear repeating at this time," Zabuto commented. "However, I thought I should call you to compare notes Watcher to Watcher."

"Thank you, old chap. I'm very gratified to hear that," Giles replied. "Look, Buffy called me late last night to tell me of her dream. I have the broad outline of it, and she's due to come give me the full details later on today."

"Of course. To save ourselves some time, perhaps it would be best if I tell you what Kennedy has told me," Sam Zabuto said. He then proceeded to describe Kennedy's dream to Giles.

"Are you sure about that name Kennedy heard Buffy mention?" Giles asked in surprise, after the dream description was completed.

"Yes, Sander," Zabuto replied.

"No, Xander. Xander Harris," Giles automatically corrected Zabuto, and the Englishman heard the other Watcher's indrawn breath. "Yes, the very same and as you've no doubt heard, he died nearly 2 1/2 years ago. His appearance is puzzling to me, my friend. I'll call you later on after I've had a chance to talk to Buffy at length."

 **Press Briefing Room, White House, Washington D.C. 12:15 PM local time, 12:15 PM EDT**

Ari Fleischer leaned onto the podium. "Everyone, I know you're all disappointed you didn't get to go Florida today and tomorrow. However, the President really didn't want to give his cold to the children in Sarasota."

"Ari, are there plans to reschedule the visit?" a female reporter asked.

"No definite plans at this time. However, I'm sure we'll be visiting there sometime in the near future. President Bush is fond of Florida, after all," the White House press secretary replied to the laughter of the press corps.

"Have there been any events scheduled for tomorrow?" another reporter asked.

The press secretary shook his head. "No, my understanding is the day is being kept open right now, depending on anything interesting that takes place."

"Will Mrs. Bush cancel her schedule tomorrow?"

"You'll have to ask her press secretary about that. I know she's supposed to testify on the Hill in the morning," was the response.

"Will the President's cold affect Australian Prime Minister John Howard's state visit?" was the next question.

"No, I don't believe Prime Minister Howard's visit will be affected by the President's state of health," was the reply. "Moving on, National Security Adviser Rice will be arriving back in Washington later today from her visit to Moscow."

 **USS Theodore Roosevelt, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. 9:45 PM local time, 12:45 PM EDT**

The crew chief looked the clipboard he was holding, as he walked down the line on the hangar deck. "Okay, this section looks good," he said to the seaman-first walking along beside him. "Have the crew been doing okay on the drills?"

"Yeah, chief, record times as a matter of fact. They're pumped up," was the response.

"Excellent," the crew chief said as he made a check on the clipboard.

"We going to see action, boss?"

The noncom looked at the enlisted man. "Something's going on. Beyond that, I'm not even hazarding a guess. The main thing is, I want the crew ready for whatever the captain orders. Now let's check on the next batch of ordinance."

 **Northern Afghanistan. 10:00 PM local time, 1:30 PM EDT**

Captain Ronald Archer of the United States Army Special Forces shifted himself in the saddle, as the horse he was riding made its way along the mountain trail. In front and behind him were several horses, also with riders. Some of the riders were also U.S. army officers, some of them were CIA field operatives, and the others were members of the Northern Alliance.

"Careful," he said to the man on the horse in front of him as the horse stumbled. "This equipment is why we're here. Without it, we're just out here to do an imitation of Custer's last stand."

"Don't worry, we'll get the satellite transmitter where it needs to go. We've been hoping for this too long to let a malfunction get in the way now," the CIA man in front of Archer said. "Besides, my little bag is just as important."

Archer laughed. "Maybe for a weekend in Vegas."

The agent patted the bags on his horse. "Laugh if you like, but here in Afghanistan warlords don't come free or even cheap. All these Ben Franklins are our passports. Even in the 21st century, sometimes we gotta do things the old fashioned way."

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 11:15 AM local time, 2:15 PM EDT**

"Giles!" Buffy shouted out as she closed the door to the Magic Box, the door chime ringing.

"Back here, Buffy!" Giles called out from the training room. The Summers woman thus made her way through the store. She noticed Anya Jenkins behind the register, counting the money.

"Morning, Anya," the Slayer said. "How was your weekend?"

Anya smiled. "Morning Buffy, and we had a very profitable weekend thank you. Giles has been waiting for you."

Buffy nodded and went into the training room. Giles was sitting at the desk up against the wall. "Buffy, good morning, please have a seat. Now then, tell me all about this Slayer dream." Buffy did as her Watcher asked.

As Buffy described in detail the dream, Giles made notes on the notebook he had. "So both Faith and Xander were in the dream?" he asked.

Buffy nodded her head. "Yeah, they were both in it, just not together."

"Faith said, and I quote, they better treat him right?"

"Yeah, and she said I should treat him right too, or she'll come back and kick my butt," Buffy replied. "Kinda wigsome, actually."

"Any idea of who she meant by 'they'?" Giles was taking notes feverishly.

"I'm not sure, maybe the Powers That Be? Cordelia's mentioned them a few times while talking with Willow. And apparently, that's who Angel's working for, right?" Buffy asked.

"Indeed," Giles noted.

"But on the other hand, why would those guys be interested in Xander? And the military thing, at least I assume it was the military since I was at the Pentagon and all. Maybe Faith meant *they* had better treat him right. But how, he's dead." Buffy frowned.

"It's clearly a symbol of some kind, Buffy. Maybe it represents the government getting interested in fighting demons. And Xander is meant to be the personification of humanity?" Giles speculated. "Faith is the Slayer spirit saying the government had better treat humanity well."

"Maybe," Buffy said, looking unconvinced. "But I dunno, I got the feeling it was more personal than that. And then there's what Xander said in the dream, about when I meet the real him."

Giles sighed. "Yes, well, that part of it doesn't make any sense at all. Do you think Drusilla's presence relates to Xander and Faith?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, or at least I didn't sense a connection."

Giles leaned back in his chair. "The presence of those three in your dream must be of some significance - but for the life of me, I can't tell you what it is. I talked to Sam Zabuto earlier about Kennedy's dream, and he didn't have any more insight than we do."

"Maybe if we had the others help out," Buffy said. "They might find some sorta angle we haven't thought of yet."

"I suppose so," Giles responded. "All right, I'll call everyone and set up a meeting."

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. 11:50 AM local time, 2:50 PM EDT**

"So, how did it go last night?"

Lilah Morgan looked up in response to the question from the junior attorney. She was related to someone high up the food chain at this branch of the firm, even if right now Lilah couldn't remember who it was. Therefore, the woman was a little more willing to take risks than the average Wolfram & Hart associate.

She had decided to fix Lilah up on a blind date. Ms. Morgan hadn't told her to go take a flying leap; you never knew when you might need a friend in high places around here. Also, she did say the man was cute.

And he had been, but that wasn't the problem.

"The food was good," Lilah commented, hoping to forestall further inquiry.

No such luck. "What about Jason? He's a hottie, did you hit it off with him?" Angela, for that was the junior attorney's name, asked.

"He knew how to choose a great restaurant," Lilah replied, staring at the laptop which detailed the southern California investments of Elizabeth Bathory, a long-time client of the firm.

Angela wasn't dumb and clearly understood that Lilah had been less than overwhelmed with her date last night. "So what's wrong with him? He's a rising star in his investment firm. He'll be a senior vice-president for sure within a couple more years. He'll even do it before he's thirty-five, something that's never been done before."

Lilah didn't look up from the computer screen as she answered, "I know, the problem is he knows it too. He was a bit too self-involved for my taste." Lilah subsequently noticed the look on her protégé's face. "Look, I'm not saying that the man isn't attractive or someone who isn't going to go places in life, it's just that I don't think he would think of others first."

Angela cocked her head. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, for example, I don't think he would drive a tank into the building in order to retrieve my soul," Lilah shrugged.

"What?" Angela asked in complete confusion, being that new around here.

"Never mind, I'll explain later," Lilah said hurriedly. "Look, I need for you to make sure this information packet gets sent to the New York office today. Baron Roja has an appointment with them tomorrow tonight, and they'll need the information for him."

 **MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida. 3:15 PM local time, 3:15 PM EDT**

The young Army lieutenant hurried after General Tommy Franks and another Army general as they carried out a conversation.

"I don't like it, the operation seems way too rushed for my taste," Franks said straight out.

The other general, wearing a patch from the Rangers, responded, "I know, but the whole thing with them was sudden. They only got arrested last month. Their trial started a few days ago and the Afghans said they could face hanging. Imagine what'll happen to them tomorrow when the bombs start falling!"

"People die in war," Franks observed.

"Yes, but we can keep it to a minimum. Look, my boys are on the Wasp, ready to go. They can be in Kabul in a couple of hours. We can get them out before the big show," the Ranger general declared.

"I'm sure the exact same thing was said back in 1980 with Eagle Claw," Franks commented.

"Hey, like you said people die in war, besides - I think kicking the Taliban in the teeth is a pretty good way to start this little shindig."

Franks nodded. "Okay, then, you have a go. I just don't want the first images of the war to be of our boys getting slaughtered on the streets of Kabul."

 **United States Naval Base, Diego Garcia, Chagos Archipelago. 2:00 AM local time, 4:00 PM EDT**

The Air Force General rubbed his eyes, and went back to looking over the maps in front of him.

He had started flying B-52s during the last days of the Vietnam war, when he was just a green lieutenant fresh out of the academy. He was coming to the end of his career now, and should have been behind a desk in his final months.

However, he was planning to end it the same way he had started it. After all, RHIP - rank hath its privileges.

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. 2:10 PM local time, 5:10 PM EDT**

Professor Gamber looked over his Media Relations class, sitting around the table that formed a square in the middle of the classroom. They seemed an intelligent lot, even if appearances might be deceiving. {Probably too much weekend partying, it always makes it hell for them during the following Monday.}

"Now, one might think that in a technological civilization such as the one we live in today, unlike the dim dark ages of the past current events will always be viewed objectively. However, events these days can be defined by the media coverage of them, and thus can and will be viewed subjectively. How one person might view a news event could be quite different to how the person standing right next to them will perceive it. Why is that? Ms. Rosenberg?" Gamber said in response to redhead's upraised hand.

"Personal involvement," Willow said, her inner geek in full-on mode.

"In what way?" Gamber asked.

"Uh, well, let's say you see a story about a plane crash in Idaho. You vaguely think about how sad it is, after all to you, it's just a story. However, if you subsequently find out that your mother was a passenger on the plane, you suddenly look at what's happened in a brand new light!"

Gamber nodded, a little impressed. "Exactly, you have a personal stake in the event, so you view it differently. How else could the impression of an event be different?" The Swedish exchange student named Sven raised his hand. "Go ahead, Mr. Larsson."

"The importance given to the event by the media. If an event is emphasized and reported often enough, it assumes an importance beyond what it may have if viewed in isolation."

"Interesting. What's an example of that?" Gamber asked.

He thought for a second. "That intern who disappeared in Washington. It is a tragedy. However, in any country you have people disappearing on a regular basis. But the national media has discussed it so much lately, that it has become a nation-wide story."

Across the table from him, Willow nodded. {And you have no idea how true that is in Sunnydale.} Then she stared at Sven, wondering yet again why he looked vaguely familiar. It never occurred to her that the newly commissioned Fänrik or "Ensign" was the same blonde Swede who had lived with Cordelia Chase and her family for two weeks back in her junior year of high school; it was simply too long ago, and too much had happened ever since then.

"Why would that be such a sensation?" Gamber asked.

A petite Asian co-ed spoke up. "She's young, pretty and white." She smiled at Larsson. Willow didn't snicker, she had seen Sven and Gwen having lunch last week so she knew that the co-ed was a day late and a dollar short as the old saying went.

"True, that's probably why the media picked up on the story, but would it have been such a hot news item if they had only reported it once or twice?" Gamber asked.

"No. For an idea to take hold in the public's consciousness, it has to be reinforced regularly," Larsson insisted. "The media kept talking about it, so people concluded it had to be a major issue."

"Go on," Gamber urged.

"It became a common topic of conversation in work places. It was something that everyone knew about, and something in common for them to talk about. The more they talked about it, the more important it became to them. At some point, reinforcement must come from sources other than the media before something else gets its 15 minutes in America," Sven said promptly.

Gamber nodded. "Very good, and I can see you've already picked up quite a bit of American slang in the short time you've been here in California, Mr. Larsson." He looked at his watch. "We're just about out of time. All right, your assignment for next week - pick a news event that takes place during the next few days, and prepare an essay describing how public perception of it is influenced by the media coverage."

 **Richmond, Virginia. 5:35 PM local time, 5:35 PM EDT**

Oz sat on the couch, idly strumming the guitar he was holding. Fred stood in the archway leading to the dining room, watching him. The werewolf knew what she was doing and said simply, "Question?"

"Are you always this calm?" Winifred asked, looking at her roommate.

Oz looked up, but kept on strumming the guitar. "Any reason why I shouldn't be?"

Fred came in and sat down on the couch. "Well, I just mean - everything that's about to take place, Xander and the others have gone off to start a war. And we're just sitting here, waiting to see what's going to happen. I mean, a-a world changing event is about to happen, and the most important thing we need to do is figure out what to have for dinner."

"I was thinking Mexican," Oz commented sagely.

That got a laugh from Fred. "Mexican wouldn't be bad, I guess." She paused for a second. "You're used to this, huh?"

"Well, actually, it's better than some of the things I went through in high school. No one's talking about the end of the world taking place tomorrow," Oz responded, as he finally put the guitar down.

"How many apocalypses have you been through?" Fred asked.

Oz thought for a second. "Three, maybe four."

"So then, the end of the world - it's old hat to you and Xander," Fred observed.

"Hmmm. Xander's take on that might be kinda different to mine, since this is his second time around and all, not sure how many apocalypses he's been through, actually, guy still won't talk about some of the things he remembers from that other world. Still, I'm sure he's more used to end of the world scenarios than I am," Daniel replied, making a special effort to have a deep and meaningful with his female companion. He liked Fred, and was glad to be her friend.

"Tell me about him, before he..." Fred trailed off, not sure how to phrase it properly.

"Before he became who he is today?" Oz asked.

"Well, uh, yeah," Fred responded. "before he became this mystical time warrior thing."

"Knew Xander for about a year before everything changed," Oz explained. "He and my ex Willow Rosenberg, they were tight. Almost right from the cradle."

"Willow, uh, yeah, I've heard about her," Fred looked a little embarrassed. The female physicist had managed to gather bits and pieces where she wasn't really supposed to. Also, she'd been able to do some Internet searches, and had been surprised to find Xander's obit online on the website for the Sunnydale Press. It had listed some of his friends.

"I know," Oz replied with his ultimate poker face. "Anyway, it was Xander and Willow and this girl Buffy Summers for about two years, they were inseparable. Buffy was the vampire Slayer in Sunnydale, in case no one's told you."

Ms. Burkle nodded. "The one before Faith, right?"

"No, that was Kendra. Jamaican girl. Only met her a few times," Oz shrugged. "After she died, Faith was called."

"Right," Fred readjusted both her knowledge base and her position on the couch slightly. "But getting back to Xander...I've heard there was another girl he was close to, what was her name? Christina? Claudia?"

"Cordelia. Cordelia Chase," Oz supplied smoothly, even though he was smiling on the inside. "Now, that girl was really something else. She and Xander were about as mismatched a couple as you could ever find, but I think she actually fell in love with him after dating just about every eligible guy in Sunnydale."

"But, but didn't Xander and Faith?" Fred suddenly looked confused.

"That was after those two broke up," Oz explained. "After everyone found out about how Xander lied about Angel's soul and what Willow was planning to do, it was over between him and Cordy for good. I thought it was kind of a pity, after I heard about it. Xander brought out the best in her when they were together. Lot more than Devon ever did, anyway."

"I'm sorry, Devon is?" Fred was now more confused than ever.

"My best friend at the time, lead singer of 'Dingoes Ate My Baby', name of our high school band," Daniel explained rapidly after seeing the expression on the woman's face. "He and Cordelia dated for a while, before Xander came into the picture. Devon and Cordy never had a chance of working out though. Hate to admit it, but they were both far too vain and self-centered back then."

{Are we talking about people from real life, or some kind of soap opera?} Fred wondered. "Um, getting back to Xander?"

"Right. Well, I heard from Willow he loved Buffy more than anything during sophomore year, but she never felt the same way about him. Still, Xander brought her back from the dead with CPR after Buffy drowned on Prom Night." Oz went on to discuss some other things he'd heard about from those days, including the Harvest, the Anointed One, the episode with Sid the dummy, and Marcie Ross the invisible girl.

Fred looked amazed. "Is that all?"

"No, that's just the stuff Xander was involved in during sophomore year, junior year was more intense," the werewolf said slowly. He then went on to speak of many things, including the Master's attempted resurrection by the Anointed One, Cordelia almost becoming a zombie girl or dead in a fire if Xander hadn't saved her, Parent-Teacher Night when Spike had first shown up, Career Week when the Order of Taraka had come to town, the Bezoars when Lyle and Tector Gorch had put in an appearance, his becoming a werewolf, Buffy boffing Angel and unleashing Angelus, the death of Jenny Calendar, and quite a few other matters up until the Acathla incident and Xander's encounter with Lenny the vampire.

After hearing all that Fred looked completely sick to her stomach, to put it bluntly. "Are you*that's* what Xander's life was really like back then?"

"Up until senior year, yeah. But then he quit the Slayage thing after that night outside the Bronze, like I said. Had a normal life dating Faith, 'til the guy ended up in that hell dimension," Oz said a bit too calmly. "Still, Xander helped out against the Mayor, when we had to blow up the high school on Graduation Day."

Fred shook her head. "Yeah, that...every high school kid's fondest dream, huh?"

Oz shook his head. "Mine was always reaching E-flat, diminished ninth."

Winifred Burkle honestly wasn't sure what that meant, or given everything she'd heard lately, whether she even wanted to find out.

 **Selina's Kitty Club, Boston, Massachusetts. 6:27 PM local time, 6:27 PM EDT**

The stripper known as Melania sighed, as she looked herself in the mirror. A woman on her own needing to make a fast buck these days had few options other than doing this, or performing on her back. And at least as a stripper, the social stigma wasn't quite as bad as being called a common whore.

She could feel the pulse of the music from the dance floor. It was almost time for her performance. Soon enough, the curtain leading to the stage parted and another girl walked in.

The other stripper walked over to Melania, grabbing a towel and wiping her face as she did so. "Girl, this has got to be the busiest Monday night in a long time! It's not even seven yet, and I swear - have we got some big spenders out there!"

Melania nodded, happily anticipating extra-large bills in her g-string tonight. "What's the deal, anyway?"

"Don't know," Roxy said in her South Boston accent. "Bunch of Arabs, students or something. Said something about leaving tomorrow."

"Students?" Melania said, losing the smile. "I don't like them. They never have enough money, and they almost always get out of hand."

"Girl, these guys are spending money like there is no tomorrow. I say, just shut up and dance!"

 **A nearby hotel room. The same time**

Three men knelt on the mats on the floor. They faced east and bowed down several times. They prayed loudly as they did so.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day for them.

 **Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, New York City, New York. 7:10 PM local time, 7:10 PM EDT**

"No, Sam, I had a decent meal for dinner," Riley smiled at his wife's worry over his eating habits. "I mean, they had the food brought in. It was pretty good too, steak and baked potatoes. All of the team enjoyed it."

"You didn't overeat, did you?" Sam asked over the phone line.

Riley shook his head. "No dear, the main event's tomorrow after all. If I ate too much, I might be sluggish during the big game."

A sigh. "Everything ready for your trip?"

"Yeah, all our papers are in order. Everyone's ready to go and already packed. We're probably going to play cards for a while, then turn in nice and early. In the morning we'll catch our flight over in Newark," Riley explained.

"Why Newark, I don't see why they didn't choose a flight out of JFK?"

"It's where the flight is leaving from," Riley answered, speaking in code just in case. "We didn't make the original bookings."

"Yeah, I know. Have you talked to Graham?"

Riley smiled at Sam's concern over their mutual friend. "I talked to him about a half hour ago. I'll probably talk to him again once more before I turn in, but I think he's good."

"Then just my opinion, but you might want to forget about calling him later on. After all - you saw him at Andrews during the briefing, and you've talked to him once already. If you keep hovering around him like that, he'll start wondering if you actually have confidence in him."

Riley nodded. "Good point, honey. It's my job to worry, but you're right as usual."

"Of course dear, after all - I'm always right." Riley could almost hear Samantha's smile through the phone line. "How's everyone else?"

"They're good. Mother Hen's in Boston, practically climbing the walls like you'd expect."

Samantha chuckled at that. "I'm headed over to his building later on. Thought I might check up on Osbourne and Burkle. They're all alone with everyone else getting ready for the big day."

"Good idea, they're probably feeling a little out of sorts what with Hall - sorry, Howard - part of the home team like the rest of us. I saw him at the briefing, you know. Must be an awful life, having it tied up so much in work like that."

"Says the man who married someone he met on the job and works with?" Samantha joked.

"Good point. You know, when we get the chance we might want to have him and his exiles over for dinner or something. I think it'd do them some good to see someone outside of Colonel Cleburne's orbit," Riley suggested.

Sam thought about it, and figured that once the deadline for Xander's headaches around her had passed in a few months it would be a great idea. "I like that, I could cook that lasagna you like so much. So about what time do you think you'll be home?" Mrs. Finn asked, already making plans for dinner.

 **Siberian Trip Wire safehouse outside Washington, D.C. 8:11 PM local time, 8:11 PM EDT**

Gwen Raiden was not in a good mood.

Things in LA had been rather hectic recently. Less than a week ago, she'd had a vision about some students in trouble from a couple of vampires; and the damned vision things were really starting to hurt, the hangovers lasting longer and longer despite the meds Raiden was taking. Anyway, Angel had gone out to do his big hero act, and he'd ended up staking one of the undead. To his surprise though, the female vampire he'd dusted had been someone he'd known named Elisabeth, the paramour of a male vampire named James.

The earliest offspring of Angelus and Darla, James and Elisabeth had in fact been the original prototypes for Spike and Drusilla back in the 18th century, and had had just as an intense relationship over the last 240 years as the two British vampires in question. Thus, James had lost it completely after learning the bad news, and had eventually ended up dust himself after trying to stake the pregnant Darla in retaliation. Angel, Gunn and Gwen herself had seen to it personally.

But killing a loser bloodsucker wasn't why the seer was in a foul temper. No, the reason for that was that just last night, Gwen and Charles had had a 'moment' so to speak, and if the circumstances had been different the reformed thief did not doubt that Gunn would have started kissing the hell out of her. But since she was the freak whose lips would have killed the black man with a lethal electric shock, nothing had happened and the two had just parted company in acute frustration.

"So, why am I here again?" Gwen Raiden asked, finally focusing away from the past.

"Because the colonel says you're special," the Navy SEAL nicknamed Red answered. "Not to mention he thinks there's a place for you on my team. And who am I to question his instincts?"

"And I'm not supposed to steal anything? I just sit in the cockpit, right?" Gwen continued her questioning.

"I already told you, your role is to be the last line of defense. Any terrorist who gets past the rest of us, you take care of them before they try to kill the pilot and take over the plane," Red explained.

"Using my dazzling good looks, I suppose?" Gwen said sarcastically.

"Not that you aren't a beautiful woman," Red shrugged with an honest compliment. "However, we both know your real talent lies elsewhere. And such a talent is probably a lot safer to use on an airplane instead of a firearm." Around them in the house, the members of Red's team played cards or loafed around. A few of them sent appreciative glances over at Raiden, irking the hell out of her.

"Okay, I can see how that makes sense, but why this plane, and not one of the others?" Gwen continued on, noting Red's compliment.

Red hesitated. "Well, this plane will leave us the least amount of time to react, if something goes wrong."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, react?"

Red again hesitated. "Can't put all our eggs in one basket. If the terrorists get by those of us on the planes themselves, there is a fallback position."

"Fallback position?" Gwen asked darkly.

"The Air Force is taking care of that part of it," Red noted.

Gwen was silent for several seconds as the implications of that one sunk into her brain. "You people are really messed up. Why am I even involved with you, anyway?"

"The colonel said to remind you about that thing with the IRS," Red deadpanned.

Gwen sighed. "All of you are seriously in need of getting a life."

"You have no idea," Red replied, smiling.

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:06 PM local time, 9:06 PM EDT**

"Buffy, dinner's ready!" Joyce shouted up from the kitchen.

The middle-aged woman leaned on her cane as she moved into the dining room, holding a bowl of green beans in the other hand. Behind her, Dawn carried in a dish with meatloaf in her hands.

Joyce heard the noise of Buffy coming down the stairs. A few seconds later, her eldest daughter turned the corner from the hallway into the dining room. "I'm hungry, what's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," Joyce replied. "I know it's nothing fancy, but I just didn't feel like cooking anything special tonight."

"Hey, I'm not complaining Mom," Buffy said perkily. She sat down at the table and was quickly joined by the other Summers women. They quickly put food on their plates and started eating.

Joyce started up the conversation. "So Buffy, how was your day? Did Rupert help you out any?" Joyce knew some of the details of Buffy's dream.

"Well, he took a lot of notes, cleaned his glasses a lot and made the usual 'oh dear' noises you would expect. Didn't really find anything out, but he has theories," Buffy explained.

"Did he have any theories that might actually be on the money?" Joyce asked her daughter.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope, he's going to try and get some help from the Council, but they apparently believe watching does not equal helping."

"You miss Xander."

"Excuse me?" Buffy asked, as both she and her mother looked at Dawn who had taken a bite of meatloaf before making that pronouncement.

Dawn looked back. "Oh, come on. Think about it, Buffy! Faith telling you to treat Xander right. Xander showing up in your dream afterwards mentioning what you should say to him. It's pretty clear to me that you're missing him. I mean, I dream about him every once in a while. But you should dream about him more, since you knew him longer!"

Dawn saw Buffy was having trouble accepting what she had said. "Okay, pop quiz. What have you been moping about for the past few months? Your lack of a boyfriend. You want a normal guy who can accept the fact that you're the Slayer. Someone who won't get scared off, and likes you in spite of the freakiness factor. Someone who you don't have to pretend with, and is totally nuts for you. Face it, you're looking for Xander! Or version 2.0 anyway, since you threw away all your chances with the original model."

Buffy looked at Joyce. The eldest Summers woman shrugged her shoulders. "Don't look at me, dear. Dawn's science class at school is focused on teen psychology right now."

Buffy turned and looked at her little sister. "I am not your science project, Dawn," she said firmly.

Dawn grinned at the Slayer. "Of course not, I'm saving that for when I get to college."

"Mom!" Buffy pleaded for assistance from Joyce.

"Dawn, quit tormenting your sister. After all - it was a Slayer dream, not a normal dream," Joyce came to Buffy's assistance.

"My point exactly! The Slayer dreams always signify something important. So clearly, you think Xander is important," Dawn retorted, not giving up the offensive against her big sister.

"And how do Arabs and Drusilla relate to Xander?" Buffy asked in a huffy tone.

Dawn scrunched her face for a second. "Well, Drusilla did make Willow do that spell that sent Xander to that hell dimension. The Arabs, uh, well..."

"Girls, I think that's enough," Joyce declared, deciding things were getting a little too out of hand. "And I mean it, Dawn, or we'll start talking about your boyfriends."

"Ooooh. Dawn has boyfriends?" Buffy said in a cheery voice, seeing a chance of payback as Dawn glared at her.

"No more than you did at her age," Joyce commented. "Ah, to be young again." she sighed.

"How were things at the gallery today?" Buffy asked, glad to change the subject.

"Pretty good, I spent the morning and part of the afternoon there. Business is doing well. I was thinking Buffy, if you want I could make arrangements for you to work more often there so that you can be more involved with the business."

Buffy blinked. "More workage? Mom, I like spending time with you and all, but come on - longer hours at the gallery?"

Joyce nodded as she put down the glass of iced tea she had just taken a sip from. "Yes, it might not be a bad idea, after all - you can't exactly earn a living by being the Slayer, can you? Charging people for saving their lives isn't something that sounds terribly convenient, anyway. Maybe you can even take over the gallery completely one day, after you finish college? We can discuss it later if you want." Joyce turned to her younger daughter. "Dawn dear, I seem to recall you had a paper due about psychology in your science class, how did that go?"

Dawn hastily swallowed down the green beans she had been chewing before she answered.

 **USS Essex, off the Horn of Africa. 5:17 AM local time, 10:17 PM EDT**

The Marine major watched as the crews worked on the various helicopters throughout the hangar deck. His intelligence officer walked behind him. "Yes?"

"Latest recon photos are in from the target. The only change I can see is one of the trucks they use broke down."

"How can you tell?" the major asked.

"All the tires are off. They're using them on the other trucks," the intelligence officer replied.

The major rolled his eyes. "I can't believe we're fighting someone who thinks a Toyota truck is a military necessity."

"Well, our fathers fought an enemy in Vietnam that marched on sandals," was the reply from the subordinate. "Sir, any word yet on when we'll go?"

The major shook his head. "Not yet, we're still waiting for the operations order from Washington."

 **The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 8:13 PM local time, 11:13 PM EDT**

Angel leaned back in his chair. "Okay, anything major we need to take care of tonight?" he asked the group that comprised Angel Investigations.

Wesley shook his head. "No, things are quiet. There was a nest over near USC, but Gunn's people took care of them." The ex-Watcher nodded at the bald black man.

"Yeah, the boys said there wasn't too much of a problem dealing with 'em, although the police started asking some questions afterwards," Gunn said.

Angel raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm sure we can find someone who can resolve any difficulties there." The ensouled vampire was trying to not directly refer to the U.S. government, as not all of his people were in the know about that. Well, Cordelia wasn't anyway, and to explain the government connection would lead to having to explain to her about how Xander was still alive, and no sane male who wanted his nuts to remain intact would ever go *there* voluntarily.

Gunn shook his head. "No need, it wasn't anything beyond what we expect when we're out after dark in some neighborhoods. For some reason, a whole bunch of brothers walkin' through the suburbs carrying weapons unnerves some people."

The whole group laughed at that comment. Angel turned to the seer in the group. "Cordy, any visions?"

The former queen bee of Sunnydale High shook her head. "No, no mind-splitting migraine headaches. Been pretty quiet on that front recently." She looked around. "Where is Gwen anyway? She gets the visions more than I do nowadays."

Gunn spoke up. "She's, uh, off on a job. Left this morning and should be back in a few days."

"Anything we should be concerned about?" Angel asked.

"Nah, man, she said everything was good. Just that a job had come up out of town that she needed to take care of. She'll call if she needs help," Gunn explained.

"Okay then," Angel said. He then winced as the guy heard Darla start yelling for him from upstairs, which had become a regular occurrence as her pregnancy had progressed. "I'll be right back. And if it's nothing urgent, I want us to have another look at the Powell case. Tonight might be a good time to see if those demons show up outside his bar in order to shake down his customers again."

 **Northern Afghanistan. 8:35 AM local time, September 11, 2001 12:05 AM EDT**

"I think this is a bad idea. It isn't safe," the CIA agent said in a pleading tone.

"Life is risk," Ahmad Shah Massoud said. "You simply accept it and put your faith in Allah."

"Of course, however sometimes Allah's a very busy person - and his servants should not overtax him," the CIA agent replied, having been in this part of the world long enough to know how to reason with the locals.

"Allah is all-powerful, mere humans can not overtax his strength," was the reply from the mujahideen leader. "Besides, the Taliban cannot be allowed to believe they got away with their perfidious plan."

"Trust me. They won't," the American said.

"Yes, but they must be made to know that now. Otherwise they will seem to appear strong. I must show them the error of their ways." Massoud picked up an AK-47 and walked out the door. The CIA agent reluctantly followed him.

They made their way down a hallway and up some stairs to the roof of the building. In the field next to the building, a large number of warriors stood. Massoud faced the gathering and raised the AK-47.

"I live, the Taliban infidels failed. The loathsome dogs missed. Allahu Akbar!"

The warriors raised their arms and started shouting. More than a few of them fired off some shots from the Kalashnikovs.

{No wonder this meat grinder spit out the Russians. I just hope it doesn't do the same to us.} the CIA agent thought wearily.

 **Southern Afghanistan. 8:41 AM local time, September 11, 2001 12:10 AM EDT**

The tall and bearded man made his way out of the house. All around him, there was a great deal of bustle and activity. Armed guards ringed the area. In the middle of the compound, there was a long line of pickup trucks.

"Sir, please hurry, we must get to the new location right now," the guard behind the man said.

The tall man nodded. "Have my wives and children been taken care of?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, they are all in the trucks and ready to go. But we must get you to a safe location."

"Very well, later on today we shall have news. Once my family is safe, we shall go to the hills to wait." He got into the truck second from the lead.

 **United States District Courthouse, Manhattan, New York City. 1:35 AM local time, 1:35 AM EDT**

The clerk sorted out the papers. Each search warrant had to go to the right officer, matched up to the locale to be searched.

He rubbed his eyes. He would much prefer to finish this in the morning, but his superior had been quite clear on the matter; everything was to be finished well before tomorrow morning. As a matter of fact, the time of 3 am was specifically mentioned as the latest the job was to be done.

The clerk shook his head. He figured he should get it all done with about an hour to spare, and then he was going straight home to bed.

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. September 10, 2001 11:15 PM local time, September 11, 2001 2:15 AM EDT**

Willow Rosenberg looked up as her girlfriend Tara came into their dorm room. "Hey sweetie," the redhead said lovingly.

"Hey Willow," Tara responded in kind.

"I was expecting you back a while ago. So how'd it go at the library?" Willow asked.

"Not too bad. I think it hasn't really sunk into most people's heads yet the fact that classes are back in session for this semester. I saw more people hanging out on campus than in the library."

Willow put down the book she had been reading on the desk in front of her. "See anything besides students?"

Tara placed her book bag on her bed. "No, the summer break for the usual Hellmouth stuff hasn't really ended yet. Not a vampire or demon in sight, well - not if you don't count Clem. I think he was looking for kittens in the alley behind the library or something."

"How is he, anyway?" Willow asked curiously.

"Talkative and nice, he said the demon community isn't too active right now." Tara put the sweater she had been wearing into the closet. "Any luck figuring out Buffy's Slayer dream?"

Willow shook her head. "Nope, Giles had been doing the research thing, cleaning his glasses and going 'dear me' a lot, but he hasn't been able to figure out what it all means either. Just like the last few Slayer dreams Buff's had. He's going to call the Watchers Council tomorrow to see if he can convince them to help out."

Tara sat down on the bed near the desk where Willow was sitting. "What were they like?"

Willow frowned. "Well, Buffy and Giles are concerned, I mean anytime a Slayer dream happens they're always concerned. Like Buffy wants to know what it means, a-a-and Giles hates not knowing the answer to any question he has."

Tara shook her head. "No, not Buffy and Giles, I meant Xander and Faith. Because I never met either of them, although from what I've heard Xander knew me; something he wrote about in his third letter, Giles was pretty vague on the details..." The lesbian witch shook her head. "Anyway, you've talked to me about Xander before, but you've never really talked about Faith. What was she like?"

"A cleavage-y slut bomb?" Willow commented, surprising both herself and Tara with the snarkiness. "Whoa, where did that just come from?" Willow asked mostly herself in confusion.

"Um, I take it you had issues with Faith?" Tara asked delicately.

Willow leaned back. "Well yeah, kinda. I guess. She came to town, and almost straightaway she...well, she and Xander ended up together, they started having sex all the time. Back in senior year, she basically stole Xander from me and Buffy."

Willow instantly looked uncomfortable. "No, no, actually that's not true, at all. Xander had already left 'us' by then, Faith just swooped in and claimed him for herself after Buffy, Cordelia and I made that humongous boneheaded mistake months earlier," she said very sadly.

Tara knew that the issue of Xander and Faith always depressed Willow a little bit. "Tell you what, sweetie. I'll go wash up, and then we can sit down and try to figure out Buffy's dream?"

Willow smiled. "That's sweet, baby, but it's getting really late and we both have classes in the morning. Let's just go to bed and deal with all that tomorrow."

 **Warehouse 23, New Mexico. 12:47 AM local time, 2:47 AM EDT**

Ethan Rayne tossed and turned restlessly within the cot in his cell. He'd been having trouble sleeping lately. Finally, he gave up - and flat on his back, the Englishman stared at the ceiling for several minutes. Then he asked the world in general, "Bloody hell, why can't I get to sleep?"

The chaos mage had been on edge during the last few days. He couldn't explain why. He hated this place and his captors, of course, but Ethan was pretty sure that wasn't it.

The only thing he knew for certain was that something big was about to happen. Who knew, maybe he'd even be able to use it to his own advantage somehow.

 **Garage of a rental house, Orlando, Florida. 3:17 AM local time, 3:17 AM EDT**

The rental van shook as he climbed into the back of it.

"Hand me that box," the nameless man said to the guy helping him, pointing to a box on the ground. "And be careful!" he snapped as the box was handed to him.

He carried the box further into the van, carefully placing it on top of pile of boxes. He walked back.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes after three," was the response.

"We need to hurry up, then. We only have about six hours before we need to be there."

 **Caritas Karaoke bar, Los Angeles, California. 1:31 AM local time, 4:31 AM EDT**

Lorne laid the phone down onto the bar after answering it. He subsequently looked around and found the person he'd been looking for. "Ametila. Phone call!" the Host called out.

She waved and made her way over behind the bar. The waitress then smiled at her boss, "Thanks, Lorne, who is it?"

"That sailor boy of yours," Lorne responded with an eye roll.

Ametila's smile grew broader as she picked up the phone. "Hey honey," she said. "What's up?"

"Hello, Am," the voice of Commander Michael "Red" Byrne said across the long distance phone line, using his nickname for the waitress. "Just thought I'd call and say hi."

"Where are you? LA, I hope?" the woman asked with a hopeful smile on her face.

"Sorry sweetie, wrong coastline. I wish I was there, though," Red answered.

"Are you going to be able to get out here during the weekend?" Ametila asked.

"I might be able to get over there later this week, depending on how work goes," Red replied vaguely.

"Well, I hope it goes quickly for you then. If you get out here by then, I'll take some time off and maybe we can go up to that cabin getaway in the mountains," the demoness suggested.

"I'd like that," Red said and then he hesitated. "Look, sweetie, I want you to do something for me, okay?"

The waitress held the phone closer to her ear, as the noise from the club was making it difficult for her to hear her boyfriend. "What, Red?"

"What time do you get off work?" he asked.

Ametila thought about it for a second. "My shift ends around two or so. I may get in a little overtime, it's actually kinda busy tonight."

There was silence on the other end of the phone line for several seconds. "Ametila, please forget about the overtime tonight, okay? Just go home as soon as possible, and stay there for the next twelve hours or so."

Ametila frowned. "What? Why?"

"No reason...well, uh, I mean, I'm pretty sure nothing's going to happen out there, but I'd feel a whole lot better if I know you're safe at home," was Red's response.

"Red, you're starting to scare me. What's going on?" Ametila now looked worried.

"Sweetie..." Red hesitated. "I can't tell you that much about my work, you know that."

"Mike," she said in a stern tone. The same one nearly all wives use when they know their husbands are being deliberately evasive.

"Ametila, all I can say is that something's planned for tomorrow morning, and I want to know that the woman I love will be safe at home when it goes down. Please - I want you to promise me that you'll not be out on the streets tomorrow, just in case," Red said passionately.

"Honey-"

"Promise me! Please. I wouldn't be asking you this if it wasn't important!" the Navy SEAL pressed home the point.

Ametila glanced around the club. "All right, fine. I promise when my shift is done I'll go home, warm up a cup of goat's blood and just read a good book."

"Well, except for the goat's blood, that sounds terrific. Although I've been in some countries where I was expected to drink it, so guess I can't complain too much," Red said somewhat nostalgically.

"Then I'll have a warm glass of the stuff waiting for you during the weekend," Ametila said coyly.

"For you, I'll look forward to it," Red said back, the smile on face his evident to any who was listening. "Honey, I hate to, but I really need to go. I love you, sweetie."

Ametila started tearing up. "I love you too. And whatever it is that you and your friends are up to, you come back to me safe and sound, you hear?"

"I will," Red said before he hung up. Ametila placed the phone back on its cradle, and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

"What's wrong, honeycakes? Did that boy of yours do something?" Lorne asked, knowing his employee was feeling distraught.

Ametila shook her head, still dabbing at her eyes as she did. "No, no, it's just something's happening tomorrow and he's worried for me. It'd be sweet, if it wasn't also so annoying at the same time with all the official secrecy stuff."

 **Sunnydale, California. 1:47 AM local time, 4:47 AM EDT**

The Sunnydale Junior High School student known as Cassie Newton opened up the medicine cabinet with her right hand, as she rubbed her forehead with her left hand.

"Why can't I get to sleep?" the blonde girl muttered to herself. "You'd think sleeping would help with the headache." She took out a bottle of aspirin.

Cassie had been having these headaches all day. She didn't know why.

Of course, even with her latent ability to see the future, she was about to be surprised in the morning like so many others in the country.

 **President's Park, Washington D.C. 5:08 AM local time, 5:08 AM EDT**

President George W. Bush breathed hard as he jogged along the path.

The Secret Service had not been happy *at all* when they'd realized that their principal object of protection had decided to go jogging outside the White House grounds. There had been some intense discussions on the matter. Finally Bush had decided to just go ahead and do it, and let the Secret Service catch up with him.

It was going to be a long day, and the President knew he was going to be cooped up inside most of it in the bunker atmosphere of the White House.

He needed to be outside for a while.

Besides, he was the President of the United States, and what was the point of being that if you couldn't do whatever you wanted every once in a while?

 **J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C. 5:10 AM local time, 5:10 AM EDT**

FBI Director Robert Mueller took a quick gulp from his cup of coffee, as he waited for his visitor to enter the office. He was supposed to be down in the Counter-Terrorism Command center, and had actually been about to head down there when the call had come in.

So the Director and one of his deputy directors were here awaiting their visitor. The door swung open, and Agent Malcolm Fletcher came in.

Mueller knew the man's record, and he also knew that Fletcher had been seconded to some spook group ages ago; the one that was more or less running the show planned for later on in the morning. He recalled how the agent's section chief had been sorry to lose him; he'd had the potential to become an assistant director one day, according to Malcolm's last performance evaluation.

But after that meeting with Xander Harris and his friends in Arkansas, that career path had pretty much evaporated into oblivion as far as this balding FBI agent was concerned.

"Agent Fletcher, I hope your urgent call doesn't mean we have a problem with one of the planes?" Mueller said.

Fletcher shook his head. "Not the planes, sir." He laid a sheaf of papers on the Director's desk. He took out a picture of an Arab man. "This guy's on the watch lists for providing possible support to the terrorists. I've been reviewing some of the names who we think are providing support to the hijackers. I figured it would help up roll up the networks."

The deputy director nodded. "We did the same thing months ago in preparation of our response."

"Yes, but this weekend I went ahead and rechecked the lists, and I learned that the Philadelphia PD picked him up on Sunday night for stealing a delivery van. I did some more checking on him, including everything that Able Danger had on this guy," Fletcher said, referring to the military's program for tracking terrorists. "They had his credit history. He used a credit card to rent a Hertz truck on Friday."

"So why would he be stealing a truck two days later?" Mueller asked.

"The Philly police learned the van he had rented broke down. But the thing is, he's not the only one on the watch lists who's rented a van during the weekend. There are several all across the nation."

The deputy director frowned at that. "When they tried to bomb the World Trade Center, they used a rental truck to carry the bomb."

"And Timothy McVeigh used a Ryder truck for his bomb," Fletcher added.

"Oh, hell!" Mueller said simply, reaching for the telephone.

 **Rural South Carolina. 5:13 AM local time, 5:13 AM EDT**

Daniel Cleburne flipped the light on in the dairy barn. The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating the line of cows.

Daniel paused a second, mentally surveying his livestock to make sure everything appeared all right. Satisfied, he started his chores; these cows had to be milked regardless of whatever else he had to do today.

 **Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. 5:18 AM local time, 5:18 AM EDT**

The motorcade of SUVs made its way down the runway, escorted by police cars and motorcycles, the emergency lights flashing off the hangars as they passed. All around them, it was clear that security was pretty tight as armed soldiers patrolled the facility.

The motorcade pulled up to the Air Force 747 painted blue and white, sitting on the tarmac, an Air Force Officer standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the plane. After the SUVs stopped an older bald man got out of one vehicle roughly in the middle of the fleet, along with several other people.

"Welcome to Air Force Two, Mr. Vice-President," the officer said to the man as he saluted.

"Is everything ready?" Dick Cheney replied.

"Yes, as soon as you and Mrs. Cheney are on board, we'll be ready to take off," was the response.

"Good," Cheney said simply as he made his way up the stairs into Air Force Two.

 **Siberian Trip Wire safehouse, Boston, Massachusetts. 5:25 AM local time, 5:25 AM EDT**

Xander groaned as a knock at the door woke him up. "What?" he grumbled as he got out of bed.

The Marine sergeant-major known as Gunny opened the door and looked inside. "Come on, Howard, up and at 'em. The colonel said to tell you it's showtime."

 **McGuire United States Air Force Base, New Jersey. 5:31 AM local time, 5:31 AM EDT**

"All right, gentlemen, it's time to answer the questions you've no doubt been asking ever since you flew in."

The Air Force General stood in the front of the room full of pilots in flight suits. On the wall behind him was a map of the northeastern United States.

"So, here's the deal. This morning you'll be flying patrols over the northeast part of the country. You will either be over specific urban areas, or tracking specific planes. You will be flying with live ammunition. You may be called upon to fire your weapons."

He paused before he continued on. "You need to know, you may be given the order to fire upon what started out as civilian airliners." At that, the pilots started looking at each other and murmuring. The General looked out at them. "And now, I'm going to tell you why."

 **Office of the Attorney General, Department of Justice, Washington D.C. 5:47 AM local time, 5:47 AM EDT**

"In my estimation, Colonel Cleburne is correct. They'll delay until they feel they can get a high enough body count, which would be later on in the morning - after nine or so, possibly even later than that," the young voice said through the speakerphone.

Attorney General John Ashcroft knew Irving Hollins' voice from the Top Secret conferences they had both participated in over the last few months. Right now, time didn't allow for a face-to-face meeting of all the principals, so a conference call on a secure line was taking place.

"That's quite a gamble." That was from Condi Rice, the National Security Adviser.

"Either way, I don't see how we have much choice in what to do about it," Esther Marcum said. "Mr. Howard knew nothing about all this, so we've almost been caught with our pants down so to speak. How long would it take us to organize an effective response? And what are the odds we're going to miss some?"

"Also, there is no way we can get our people to the vans we know about until at least one of the planes has taken off." That was Robert Mueller talking from the Counter-Terrorism center at the FBI building.

"What do we know for sure?" Ashcroft recognized Richard Clarke from the White House situation room. "What cities do we need to worry about?"

"Philadelphia, Chicago, Washington D.C., New York, Denver and San Francisco, those are the ones we've identified so far. Of course, there may be more," Mueller said.

Ashcroft glanced at the aide sitting across the desk from him. "What can we do on such short notice?" the AG asked.

"Send in agents to those that we know about, and send out an alert nationwide to the various police agencies for the others," Mueller answered simply. "In Washington and New York, we've already got everything in place and can probably catch them quickly. The others, well, unfortunately, I'd say it's going to be pretty much hit or miss."

"Where's the President?" Ashcroft asked.

Clarke answered, "Secret Service is taking him down to the Presidential Emergency Operations Center in the basement. Air Force Two hasn't been able to establish a secure line for the VP yet."

Ashcroft rubbed his forehead. "The American public needs to know we did everything possible to protect them. Forget it, I'm not willing to wait. Robert, get moving - take them down as soon as you can, and send out the alerts to every police department in the nation."

"Yes, Mr. Attorney General," Mueller said as he hurriedly hung up.

 **Portland International Jetport, Portland, Maine. 5:53 AM local time, 5:53 AM EDT**

The counter agent smiled as she took the boarding passes from each passenger as they boarded the airliner. A line of passengers was in front of the counter, and most people were looking impatient to get aboard.

She took the boarding pass from the next person in line.

"Good morning, sir. Thank you," She glanced down at the name on the boarding pass. "Enjoy your flight, Mr. Atta."

 **Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 6:04 AM local time, 6:04 AM EDT**

The Federal judge shook the sleep from his eyes as he staggered down the stairs to the front door, where the relentless pounding was coming from. {Who the hell could that be at this time of day?}

He looked through the peephole. Once he saw who it was, he opened up. {Damn it, it's six o'clock in the morning!} "What do you want?" the judge said in a somewhat groggy voice.

The Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia FBI office hurried in, followed by a couple of other agents. "Sorry to intrude, Your Honor, but we needed to get these search warrants to you right away in order for you to sign off on them."

The old man frowned. "Couldn't this have waited until I got to the office?"

The SAC shook his head. "No, sir. It has to be right now."

 **Newark International Airport, Newark, New Jersey. 6:13 AM local time, 6:13 AM EDT**

Riley Finn glanced over at the teenage girl in the van seat next to him. "How are you doing?" he asked Bethany Chaulk.

"Well, I gotta tell you, I'm kinda scared," she said softly.

Riley smiled. "We all are, anyone tells you anything different is lying."

Bethany looked surprised at that. "Really, all of you soldiers are worried as well?"

"Of course, we're not all special like you after all," Riley said with another smile.

Bethany thought for a second. "I don't know. I've never had to do something like this before."

Riley grinned. "Like I make a habit of flying around in jetliners fighting terrorists? It's a first time thing for all of us."

"But all of you seem so calm and collected. It seems to me that this is nothing more to you than like going on vacation," Bethany commented. Outside the van's window, Newark passed by.

"For you it is, all you need to do is sit in the cockpit and keep the door closed until I knock. All that and a free trip to Los Angeles. Sounds like a vacation to me," Riley joked and then he turned serious. "You'll do fine, Bethany. You're already a hero, just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Promise?" Bethany asked.

"Promise," Riley answered.

 **The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 3:17 AM local time, 6:17 AM EDT**

The microwave dinged as Angel waited for the pig's blood to warm up.

It had been a productive night. The Powell case had been resolved with no one getting hurt. Well, no one from the Fang Gang or any innocents anyway. Those demons that had been extorting money from the Powell bar patrons were a different matter.

The rest of his crew had gone home for the night, it was just him and Darla in the hotel right now. The pregnant woman was asleep at last and had finally stopped treating him like her personal slave - or even worse, like a henpecked husband. Angel took out the warm pig's blood and took a sip from it. He smiled, as it was just how he liked it. { Ah, blessed relief. }

Things weren't looking too bad, all in all. Darla's pregnancy seemed to proceeding well, as best as could be expected for a mystical vampiric pregnancy anyway. Connor was safe and sound, and due to enter the world towards the end of November.

Angel allowed himself to cautiously look forward to what the next day would bring.

 **Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 6:52 AM local time, 6:52 AM EDT**

The man who had boarded the plane in Portland, Maine heard the ringing of his cell phone.

He pulled it from his pocket. "Yes." He listened for a few seconds. "Yes, everything is proceeding well."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 3:58 AM local time, 6:58 AM EDT**

Buffy Summers rolled from side to side in the bed. Her sleep was a restless one. The Slayer dream from the night before still weighed heavily on her, as did the words of her sister and mother at dinner the previous night.

Down the hallway, Joyce and Dawn slept more soundly as Joyce's alarm clock ticked towards its 6 am wake up call.

Not far away at the UC Sunnydale campus, Willow and Tara slept peacefully in their dorm room, as Amy the rat slept in her cage.

In a nearby dorm room, Jonathan Levinson slept like the dead, his desk having a stack of spell books on it concerning the art of transmogrification.

In an apartment nearby, Giles slept with his alarm clock set early. He wanted to get up early enough so as to call the Watchers Council, to try and enlist their help in interpreting Buffy's dream.

Elsewhere in town, Anya Jenkins slept with a smile on her face as Andrew Wells lay asleep beside her. It had been a profitable day at the Magic Box, after all.

 **Rental property, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 7:01 AM local time, 7:01 AM EDT**

Heavily armed FBI agents wandered around the house, having stormed the residence not long ago. Out in the garage, several agents in heavy body armor moved in and out as the agent in charge watched from the end of the driveway. Up and down the street, the police were evacuating the rest of the homes on the block.

"He won't say anything, not even to ask for a lawyer," one FBI agent said he walked up next to the agent in charge.

"The bomb squad boys said the van carried enough explosives to take out the better part of a city block. Luckily for us, he hadn't primed it or he could have blown himself up when we came through the door," the agent in charge, who was named Richard Gunter, replied.

"Kinda hard to do when you're the only one in the house, and we've got you in handcuffs in the living room," the other agent joked.

"Yeah, but what about those we don't have in handcuffs?" Gunter asked.

 **141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. 4:10 AM local time, 7:10 AM EDT**

Cordelia Chase pulled the covers up to her neck as she slept contentedly in her bed. She was tired from last night and was enjoying the chance to get some beauty sleep, alone. Not far away, her ghost roommate Dennis Pearson was looking through some of her fashion magazines as a way to pass the time.

It still astonished the restless spirit just how much some attitudes had changed, ever since he'd been alive.

Over at his apartment, Wesley was sleeping off the aches and pains he had gotten from the fight with the demons earlier in the evening. He didn't think Virginia, his girlfriend, would have been in the mood for some hanky-panky tonight.

 **Richmond, Virginia. 7:21 AM local time, 7:21 AM EDT**

Oz walked into the kitchen, only to find Fred already there cooking breakfast. He looked at the Texan woman. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

Fred shook her head. "No, you?"

Oz shook his head also. He sat down at the table and the two of them just stared at each other in silence.

 **Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 7:29 AM local time, 7:29 AM EDT**

Cleburne and Xander walked down the connector tube to the commercial jet. A couple of other Siberians in civilian clothes also walked with them, the remainder of the strike force for this plane was waiting to board with the regular passengers.

Cleburne handed Xander an old-fashioned Sony Walkman. "Here, we might have to wait a while. It'll help the time pass."

Amused, Xander slipped on the headphones and pressed Play. Only to hear Mick Jagger starting to sing, "Jumpin' Jack Flash".

{Cleburne, you never cease to amaze me. Ah, what the hell; And I howwwwwled at my momma in the driving rain.}

 **The exact same place. 7:35 AM local time, 7:35 AM EDT**

Six minutes after Xander and Cleburne had walked down it, two Arabic men walked down the tube with the other first class passengers, one of them recognizable from videotape surveillance at the Portland airport as Mohamed Atta.

 **Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C. 7:40 AM local time, 7:40 AM EDT**

Gwen Raiden looked at her watch. She was getting impatient. She wanted to get this over with, and go home to LA.

Red noticed her fidgeting. "Don't worry, it'll come soon enough."

 **Somewhere in the southern Afghanistan mountains. 4:15 PM local time, 7:45 AM EDT**

The tall, bearded man looked out over the mountains in the countryside. Nearby was a small group of armed men.

Soon, soon it would happen.

 **Baltimore, Maryland. 7:50 AM local time, 7:50 AM EDT**

The traffic reporter looked out of helicopter window, as the cameraman peered over his shoulder. The pilot paid close attention to the controls.

The cameraman spoke up, "Studio says we're on in three."

"Okay, let's get ready, see if we can spice up this beautiful Tuesday morning," the traffic reporter responded, already getting into character.

 **Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 7:59 AM local time, 7:59 AM EDT**

Xander had long since put the Walkman aside, this was no time for listening to music after all.

"He's off the phone," Cleburne commented under his breath. Xander didn't have to ask who the Marine colonel was referring to, he knew.

"Can I ask you something?" Xander said.

"Go ahead," the Marine colonel said, without looking from the crossword puzzle book he had.

"Why the heck are we wearing business suits?"

"Look around you, kid, this isn't exactly some place where riot gear would remain unnoticed. We want to blend in, of course we're wearing business suits," Cleburne lowered his voice. "Besides, it seemed appropriate."

Suddenly, the stewardess's voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, the tower has told the captain that we are cleared for takeoff. Please place all trays in the upright position, and make sure to adjust your seats as well."

Cleburne put away his book. "And we're off."

Xander leaned back in his seat, as the jet began to taxi down the runway

The plane started to move faster.

He thought of the time he had taken confession at the Abbey where Dawn was created. { Father forgive me, it's been over a year since my last confession to Brother Feodor. }

Flight 11 continued to pick up speed.

He thought of all things he had done since that night outside the Bronze.

The jetliner thundered down the runway as it took off.

He thought of the three girls who had left him outside the Bronze. Once he would have done anything for them, even died for them. Now he forced them to the back of his mind.

Xander's plane soared upwards towards the sky, taking the Timetripper to meet his destiny.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

**Part Fifty b**

 **Somewhere in the suburbs of Tel Aviv, Israel. September 11, 2001. 3:00 PM local time, 8:00 AM EDT**

The old man leaned back in the chair within his garden, reflecting on current events as the sunlight bathed his wizened body. He knew what today was. Eli Weitz was probably the only person in the country right now who did.

The retired Israeli spymaster knew that the Americans had not told his government what was on the agenda for today, the Siberians were still somewhat distrustful of the state of Israel after that planned 'interrogation' of their miracle prophet a few months back. They didn't want to risk operational security just yet, and the old man was also sure there was a little bit of pique in their actions as well.

However, he had earned the right to know.

No, wait, that wasn't right.

His dead granddaughter Rachael, auv shalom, had earned the right to know. In blood.

 **Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. The same time**

"The first plane has taken off," Condi Rice announced to the room.

George Bush and the others sat around the table silently, watching the monitors on the wall.

 **Northern suburbs of Virginia. 8:05 AM local time, 8:05 AM EDT**

The overnight babysitter sat on the floor of the living room, playing with the child she was being paid to look after. The work was often fun, and the money more than made up for the hours involved. She rolled the ball to the baby boy and said, "Here, sweetums. Now roll the ball back, okay?"

The babysitter didn't get a chance to receive the ball back however, as a huge roar from outside on the street was suddenly heard. She stood up and saw a huge black APC with a battering ram attached charge towards one of the houses at the end of the street. Beyond it, the babysitter could see heavily armed men dressed in black with the white letters 'FBI' on their backs swarming around what she assumed was the destination of the APC.

The woman heard angry shouts from down the street, she also thought she heard someone yelling "FBI, freeze!"

Then she saw a man run around the corner of the house waving an assault rifle.

"Allah Akbar!" he screamed before pointing the rifle at the men.

Rapid gunshots rang out, as the FBI special operations team mercilessly gunned down the terrorist before he had a chance to open fire. His blood-soaked, bullet-ridden body flopped onto the lawn, the rifle clattering to the ground harmlessly. The APC sped past the still-twitching body and rammed into a delivery van that had just exploded out through the still-closed garage door. The APC blocked the van's exit, even pushing it back into the garage of the house.

After witnessing all this, the babysitter didn't hesitate; she reached down, grabbed the infant and headed straight for the door. She then swung it open and saw the FBI agents running from house to house, yelling for people to get out of their homes. Ignoring them all, the young woman started running towards her car to get her charge to safety.

{Like they say in the movies, I'm not getting paid enough for this.}

 **Queens, New York City, New York. 8:07 AM local time, 8:07 AM EDT**

The NYPD lieutenant made his way out of the house with a frustrated look on his face. He walked out onto the street, which was now a beehive of activity. He then keyed the radio he was carrying and said, "Tell the Feds we got here too late. They've already flown the coop."

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 8:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT**

Esther Marcum frowned. "So we don't know where they are or what their target is, only that they're on the loose out there somewhere?"

The conference call had been going on nonstop for the past hour or so. And the latest news just in from New York had not been well received.

"Bottom line, yes," Malcolm Fletcher said from the FBI Counter-Terrorism Command center. "There's a lot of theories being thrown around, but nothing solid so far. Their safehouse is being searched right now for any information. Nothing to report yet, though."

Esther looked at the clock. "The Air Force is trailing the first plane and we haven't heard from Cleburne yet, so it looks like they still haven't made their move. I think it's safe to say the van isn't going to the World Trade Center - but other than that, I couldn't guess where it's going to strike."

"Ashcroft is on the phone with the White House. He wants to shut down Manhattan completely," Fletcher said.

Esther looked across the desk where Irving Hollins was sitting. "In my opinion it would be a good idea, tactically speaking. At this late stage, something like that wouldn't compromise our operational security," the child genius said simply.

"I agree," Esther said. "Besides, we might get lucky and catch a break if we flood the streets with police and National Guard."

"All right then. I'll pass it onto Ashcroft; if you guys could also let the Situation Room in on that, it'd be most appreciated," Fletcher said.

"Done," Esther said swiftly as she picked up a phone on her desk to make the call.

 **United Airlines Flight 11, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:13 AM local time, 8:13 AM EDT**

"Hey, Cleburne..." Xander said nervously, looking at the two Arabs not far away.

"Yeah. I saw it too, kid," Cleburne said. And eerily reminiscent of Ethan Rayne almost four years ago, the secret agent muttered, "Showtime."

The two Americans, one a Marine colonel and the other a former demon slave, started to get up from their seats.

 **Logan Airport, Boston, Massachusetts. 8:14 AM local time, 8:14 AM EDT**

United Airlines Flight 175 (nonstop to Los Angeles) thundered down the runway as it rose into the air - carrying 51 passengers, nine crewmembers, five terrorists and 15 members of Graham Miller's Siberian Trip Wire strike team.

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 5:17 AM local time, 8:17 AM EDT**

Joyce Summers took the coffee pot out from the coffee maker. It was still dark outside, but for some reason she had woken up early and just couldn't get back to sleep. Actually, Joyce was loath to admit it, but her insomnia was almost certainly due to Rupert Giles not being there to keep his half of the bed warm for her. So the middle-aged woman had finally just given up and gone to the kitchen to fix an early breakfast.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, and turned on the TV in the kitchen to catch the early morning shows. Joyce then sat down at the kitchen table as the idiot box began to ramble on.

 **Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 8:19 AM local time, 8:19 AM EDT**

"All right, what the hell is going on here?" President Bush snapped.

"We know Colonel Cleburne sent the signal that the hijacking had begun, roughly five minutes ago. But there's been nothing since then," Richard Clarke responded.

"Well, that's not good enough! Rummy, do you have anything?" Bush asked the Secretary of Defense.

"No, Mr. President," Rumsfeld said over the speakerphone from the Pentagon. "I'm contacting the fighter jets following the plane to see if anything has happened from their point of view."

 **Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C. 8:20 AM local time, 8:20 AM EDT**

American Airlines Flight 77 rolled down the runway and lifted into the air on its scheduled trip to Los Angeles. On board were 53 passengers, six crew members, five terrorists, the 15 members of Michael "Red" Byrne's Siberian Trip Wire strike team, and Gwen Raiden.

 **United States Air Force F-15 fighter over upstate New York. 8:21 AM local time, 8:21 AM EDT**

The plane powered its way through the upper atmosphere, the fighter pilot maintaining visual contact with the passenger jet that was his quarry at all times. His wingman was right there beside him, and the pilot's cockpit was suddenly filled with a steady tone.

"This is Foxtrot One, I have lock on target. Do I fire?" the pilot asked, praying to God that the answer would be no.

 **United Airlines Flight 93, Newark International Airport, Newark. 8:22 AM local time, 8:22 AM EDT**

Riley Finn shifted restlessly within the first class seat he was sitting in. "Oh, come on..." he muttered.

"Don't worry, we're still cool," Gunny said in the chair next to him.

"We're twenty minutes late taking off!" Riley said.

"I know. But relax, something will happen before too long," Gunny said, glancing behind him.

"Yeah. That's what worries me," Finn mumbled.

 **Los Angeles, California. 5:24 AM local time, 8:24 AM EDT**

Ametila sat in the apartment chair, holding a cup of goat's blood in her hands. She shivered a little, despite the robe she was wearing. Sleep had been impossible to come by after that phone call from her boyfriend and her work shift was over.

Outside, the darkness reigned supreme. She sat in the chair watching CNN, knowing something would happen before too long and suddenly worried sick about it.

 **Military Command Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. 8:25 AM local time, 8:25 AM EDT**

"Sir, Foxtrot One and Foxtrot Two are still requesting orders on what to do," the Air Force General said.

Donald Rumsfeld drummed his fingers on the table. "Any change in the flight plan?" he asked.

The General shook his head. "No, Mr. Secretary, it's still on the path that it would take to Los Angeles."

Suddenly, static sounded from the speakers. "This is Foxtrot One, target has turned south, I repeat - the target has turned south!"

"New York City," Rumsfeld observed with a pained look in his face. "God help us, but that's it. General, tell your pilots they're authorised to-"

However, Rumsfeld didn't get to finish his order as another transmission came over the speakers.

"This is Colonel Joshua Cleburne. Code green delta one, situation under control."

All around the room, mighty cheers erupted as metaphorically speaking the engines of destiny went up in flames.

"Sorry it took so long to figure out what was going on up here. We thought we had more terrorists than expected at first, but it turns out it was just a civilian attacking the bad guys. Anyway, we've got two tangos dead and three prisoners. One stewardess is hurt, but not badly. We're turning south to assume a holding pattern over Pennsylvania."

Rumsfeld smiled, even though he wanted to go home and have a heart attack in peace. "General, tell your boys to continue escorting Flight 11 to Pennsylvania."

 **A place where often nothing is as what it seems. 5:27 AM local time, 8:27 AM EDT**

The brown van drove along the sidewalk, scattering the pedestrians in front of it in both directions.

People looked down from the windows of the high-rise office building at the speeding van. It came to a stop a few yards in front of the building. It then exploded in a huge fireball that shattered the glass into the people looking down, as they all screamed in pain.

A shrieking Cordelia Chase lurched up in her bed within her Silverlake apartment, holding her forehead. "Damn," the brunette seer then muttered. "No way!" She promptly did two things.

First, she took her usual painkillers for the splitting migraine that she now had.

Second, the young woman picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Angel, I just woke up thanks to a vision. And you'll never believe who it is we're supposed to save!"

 **Downtown Manhattan, New York City, New York. 8:31 AM local time, 8:31 AM EDT**

The cab driver honked his horn. "Damn it, move!" he shouted out at the line of cars in front of him. It was rush hour, and he still wasn't used to the vagaries of the job yet. "Noo Yawkers-"

Suddenly he heard the blare of a horn, followed by sirens. Around the corner, there appeared a line of green Humvees. As they drove past the cab, the driver could see they were full of armed soldiers.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" the hackie asked himself in confusion.

 **Somewhere above upstate New York. 8:35 AM local time, 8:35 AM EDT**

"Just who are you guys, anyway?"

Xander looked over at the man who'd asked that. He was the passenger in first class who had caused the confusion by attacking the hijackers himself during the struggle. The Siberians hadn't known who he was and it had been a tense few moments, as the shiner the guy had on his right eye could attest to. Turned out though he was a former Israeli Army soldier, and just doing his civic duty around here.

The first class section had been emptied of passengers except for him, as he was being treated for his wounds. Xander could see in the back of the compartment the two dead bodies that had been placed in empty seats. He could also see the three prisoners who were being watched over by Cleburne's guards. Harris knew that there were other Siberians back in the business class and coach sections, trying to reassure the passengers, but right now that wasn't his concern.

"FBI agents," Xander told the man, using the cover story prepared by STW.

"No you're not, I know special ops people when I see them in action. I've met enough of them back home," was the reply.

"Well, if anyone asks, we're FBI agents. That's what the public is going to be told, so that's good enough for me - and you," Xander said. "Understood?" { Okay, when did I become the voice of authority? }

The Israeli nodded. "Understood."

"Damn it!" Cleburne's curse drew their attention to the front of the first class cabin where he was talking on a cell phone. "They're still not off the ground?"

Xander moved forward to be next to Cleburne, leaving the passenger and medic behind. He raised an eyebrow at the Marine colonel. "Care to share, Mother Hen?"

Joshua covered the cell phone with his hand. "Finn's plane has yet to take off, there was a huge backlog at the airport and the flight was delayed," he explained.

"The others?" Xander asked.

"They're airborne, the tangos have been eyeballed on each one," Cleburne answered before he turned his attention back to the cell phone. "What? Oh, this just gets better and better. Well, the FBI and locals will have to handle them; right now we've got the planes to worry about!"

"We don't have to let it take off, you know. I think we have enough by now to just pull the bad guys off of that plane," Xander offered.

Cleburne glared at Xander for a second, and the 25-year-old man feigned a yawn. "Hey, don't be so hidebound. You've still got two other planes to play with, isn't that enough already?"

"Kid, what did I ever do to deserve you?" Cleburne growled. "Esther, get Riley in on this conference call, command decision time."

 **United Airlines Flight 93, Newark International Airport, Newark. 8:38 AM local time, 8:38 AM EDT**

Riley kept the ear tight to his cell phone. "You sure? I know, I know," he said defensively. "Yeah, I can see where that might be an option. All right, we'll take care of it. Finn out." He subsequently disconnected the cell phone.

Gunny looked at the Army captain. Riley knew he was nominally in charge of this operation, but the younger man also knew the Marine sergeant-major was so much more experienced at this sort of thing that in a crunch he was the one whose instincts should be followed.

"Mother Hen says to go ahead and start the show. He'll take care of everything with the owners later," Riley explained in cryptic language show as to not tip off the bad guys.

"Okay, makes sense. I take it his show went off without a hitch?" Gunny asked.

Riley nodded. "He says things are well in hand. You want to go first or follow me?"

Gunny almost smirked. "After you, Captain."

Riley got up and started walking down the aisle, followed by Gunny, their actions noted by various Siberians sitting throughout the plane. A stewardess also noted it and started walking down the aisle to try and catch them. "Both of you, please return to your seats! We'll be taking off at any moment-"

Riley reached the seat of a certain dark-skinned gentleman, who looked up at the duo being chased by the stewardess. Only to see Riley's fist coming directly towards his face, then he felt pain as he saw red. But as the terrorist unwillingly entered dreamland he heard the shouts of "FBI, don't move!" echoing throughout the cabin...

 **STW medical facility, Dallas, Texas. 7:39 AM local time, 8:39 AM EDT**

"Holly, you're up early."

The former director of Siberian Trip Wire looked up from her wheelchair. "Couldn't sleep, didn't want to miss the show," she remarked.

The orderly frowned at that, but he knew better than to say anything. He had worked long enough in this place to know strange things often happened, and that they were also things best not talked about.

 **Control room of CNN studios, New York City, New York. 8:40 AM local time, 8:40 AM EDT**

The news director held the phone up to his ear. "Come on, you have to know something!" he shouted into the phone.

All around him, the control room was a study in controlled chaos. The director listened for a few seconds. "We've got people calling saying there are army troops on the streets of Manhattan. The Washington bureau says there was some kind of shootout involving the FBI in the suburbs. Now the police are screaming about car bombs. What the hell's going on?"

Clearly, the director didn't like what he was hearing. "No, I need to know *now*! I'm not calling some damn public affairs officer to get the run-around, until you guys decide to let everyone know what you're doing!" He slammed the phone down in frustration.

"Damn, we don't really have anything to put out on the air yet. What?" he suddenly snapped at a tech who'd come up to him.

"We're starting to get calls about the FBI breaking up two plane hijackings," she answered.

"Who from?"

"People on United Flight 11, they're using their cells to call friends and family. Also some people at the airport in Newark, where one of the planes was prevented from taking off."

The director growled, "All right, but get confirmation on details before we broadcast anything. For now let's go with the one solid item we have, the shootout in Washington. Let me know when we get the camera crew in place there. In the meantime, we'll work up the other stories."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 5:41 AM local time, 8:41 AM EDT**

"Morning, Mom," Dawn said as she walked into the kitchen.

"Dawn? You're up early. Way too early," Joyce said to her youngest daughter. "The sun hasn't even come up yet!"

"Doesn't matter. Mr. Kitty Fantastico was hungry, and wanted to be fed." The aforementioned cat followed Dawn into the kitchen, loudly meowing to indicate his hunger. Named alongside Willow and Tara's pet cat, Miss Kitty Fantastico, the feline was the newest addition to the Summers household.

"Right. I'll get the cat food, you get the dish," Joyce said with a sigh.

 **United Airlines Flight 175, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:42 AM local time, 8:42 AM EDT**

Graham Miller leaned his head back as he heard movement behind him. { About time, } he thought as he stood up.

Running down the aisle were two Arabic men, box cutters in their hands. A stewardess screamed as the lead one slashed at her. "We have a bomb!" he shouted out.

The stewardess fell back, as Graham grabbed her and pushed her behind him. "No, no, you don't. What you have is fifteen very ticked-off combat ops who have been looking forward to kicking your asses for several months now," Graham announced with a smile.

That earned him a scream of anger as his opponent charged the Army officer, box cutter extended. Graham twisted a little bit to the left, grabbed the arm and yanked forward. When the arm was far enough ahead and the terrorist was falling forward, Graham suddenly jerked up and twisted the arm almost at a right angle. He was rewarded with a loud snap, a scream of pain and a box cutter dropping to the cabin floor.

Graham pulled his opponent further, grabbing the unbroken arm and twisted his enemy around so that he faced the back of the cabin. The second terrorist ran forward with an inarticulate scream, waving a knife as he did so.

Graham pushed the bad guy he was holding towards the oncoming terrorist. The two collided, the one with the broken arm screaming again. {Must have gotten stabbed by his friend.} Miller thought with detached amusement.

Graham stole a glance down the aisle of the plane. He could see where the rest of the bad guys were meeting unexpected resistance from the Siberians. Being surprised and outnumbered three to one was not a recipe for operational success.

Two Siberians came up to where the two terrorists Graham had faced were laying on the ground, one of them trying to get up. "Things under control, sir?" one of them asked as he whacked the conscious terrorist on the head.

Graham nodded. "I'd say so. These guys seem to have a major problem facing a prepared opponent," he said in contempt, nodding to the bodies on the floor. He took a cell phone out of his pocket. "Clean up the mess while I call it in."

 **Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 8:45 AM local time, 8:45 AM EDT**

"That's three down, one to go," Bush commented after Graham's report came in on the speaker phone.

"One that we know of," Clarke said from across the table. "We've already learned how things have changed from what originally would have happened, what with those damned car bombs. There may be more planes up there."

"I agree, Mr. President," Esther Marcum said over the speaker phone. "Given the stakes, we must operate under the assumption that there are planes in the air that have been targeted which we don't know about."

"Norm, have we lost contact with any other planes?" the President asked of the Secretary of Transportation.

"No, Mr. President. The FAA still has contact with everything currently in the air."

"I think we should ground the rest of the planes while we take out the remaining terrorists on the last aircraft." That was Clarke again. "Better safe than sorry, our luck has been pretty good so far. Let's not tempt fate if we don't have to."

"Can we do that?" National Security Adviser Rice said, looking at the Secretary of Transportation.

"Yes, shouldn't be a problem," Norman Mineta replied as he picked up a phone to the open line he had to the FAA Operations Center. "Monte, bring all the planes down." He listened for a few seconds.

"No, screw pilot discretion. Just order every goddamn plane in the air to come down right now."

 **NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. 8:51 AM local time, 8:51 AM EDT**

The producer, his tie undone and hanging loosely from his neck, hurried up to the desk the reporter sat at. "Look, Brokaw is on his way in, but until then you're the one on the spot. Whatever's going on is big. I just had a source call and say the FAA is grounding every plane in the air."

The reporter that had been chosen to act as NBC's temporary anchorwoman raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, maybe not every plane, I mean that would be-"

The producer cut her off. "No, every single plane in the sky. Unless it's military or government, it's coming down right now. We've gotten calls about a third attempted hijacking. There's that gun battle in D.C. and if you haven't looked out the window recently, the army is shutting down New York."

"So what do you want me to say?" the reporter asked, taking everything in stride.

"Go with the bare bones right now. The FAA is grounding all the planes in the country. Also, there are reports of the FBI storming a house in Washington D.C. I wouldn't mention the troops here in New York just yet," the producer replied. He saw the director frantically waving at him. "Looks like they're ready. Good luck." He hurried out of camera's line of view.

The substitute news anchor took a deep breath. She could see on the monitor off the set that the logo of NBC's breaking news story was going out over the air.

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

Dawn Summers looked up from her bowl of cereal as the TV screen showed the words, "Breaking News Story" with appropriate music. Joyce looked up from her coffee cup. Mr. Kitty Fantastico just continued eating though, uninterested in the goings-on of the humans.

The TV screen changed scenes to the reporter in the NBC Today news studio looking straight into the camera.

"Hello, this is Ann Curry, live from the Today show studio. NBC News has just received confirmation that the FAA has ordered the grounding of the entire civil aviation fleet in the United States. As of this moment, every single civilian aircraft in the country has been ordered to land immediately. In a possibly related story, the FBI has recently stormed a house in the Washington D.C. suburbs. We can confirm that shots were fired, and bomb disposal experts are on site."

Dawn and Joyce exchanged a look.

 **American Airlines Flight 77, somewhere over the northeastern United States. 8:52 AM local time, 8:52 AM EDT**

"Oh come on, can't you take a hint?" the Siberian known as Red asked as he dodged the box cutter wielding terrorist's attack. "I mean, look around - you're outnumbered, outclassed and to be honest, you're just annoying us now!"

A snarled oath was the response as Commander Byrne found himself the subject of a renewed attack. Clearly, giving up wasn't on the terrorist's mind. Red glanced behind his attacker and saw the remainder of the plane. The other terrorists were clearly outmatched. Two of them were already down, while a third one was cowering in his seat, arms up in the air to indicate surrender. Towering over him were three Siberians, actually getting in each other's way a little.

However, Red's momentary distraction was what the terrorist was looking for. The Navy officer felt a stinging bite on his right cheek.

"Damn it!" Red shouted. "That had better not leave a scar!"

Byrne dropped back and kicked at the knees of the box cutter wielding bad guy. It had the desired effect, as the scream that resulted testified to. The terrorist dropped to the floor, quickly followed by Red grabbing him by the collar. He yanked him back up and delivered a nasty head butt. The man quickly fell back with a bloody nose.

"You had better hope there's no scar, otherwise if my girlfriend gets pissy about it - well, you're really in for a whole world of hurt!"

 **White House, Washington D.C. 8:58 AM local time, 8:58 AM EDT**

"It doesn't matter what's on the damn schedule, the annual Congressional barbeque is not going to take place on the lawn today!" the assistant to the President said as he slammed down the phone.

"Mr. Henrick, we're emptying the building. You have to evacuate right now," a Secret Service agent said as she entered the office. "I think an orderly exit would be best for everyone involved."

The aide nodded and started stuffing papers into his briefcase.

 **UC Sunnydale dorm, Sunnydale, California.** **6:00 AM local time, 9:00 AM EDT**

The buzzer started going off as the clock face turned to six o'clock. It was still dark outside, but then these two were morning people and liked to get up before the sunrise for a long shower and a longer breakfast.

Opening her eyes, Willow Rosenberg reached over and hit the alarm button. "Sweetie, time to get up," she said to the sleeping Tara Maclay as the redhead turned the radio on to hear the morning news.

 **Wall Street, New York City, New York. 9:01 AM local time, 9:01 AM EDT**

The bicycle messenger dodged in between the cars on the street. Several shouts followed him as he made his way. He waved back at those shouting at him using less than five fingers.

The din of honking horns grew and was accompanied by the sound of metal on metal. The messenger looked over his shoulder and saw a Ryder van pushing its way down the street, scraping past a cab as it did so.

The cabdriver leaned out, shouting insults in Punjabi as the van drove on. The bike messenger slowed to see what was going on. He was kinda worried the van might be heading towards him.

The van continued on, doing its best against the congested traffic. The messenger moved the bike up against the curb, glancing at the statue of George Washington not far away as he did so.

More and more horns blared. Suddenly, the rider heard a siren as a police car came around the corner. The cop driver must have spotted the van, as the police cruiser quickly accelerated. The van did likewise, hitting more cars as it did so.

The motor vehicles started moving to try and get out of the way, however they were packed bumper to bumper in the rush hour traffic so they really couldn't move far. The slowed-down van paused for a second, while a second and third police car shot around the corner.

The van suddenly turned hard towards the sidewalk and accelerated towards Federal Hall. It got about twenty feet before it rammed into a Lincoln Town Car that couldn't get out of the way in time.

The bicycle rider stared as the sound of the horn from the rammed car echoed down the street. Then suddenly, the van exploded.

Light. Sound. Heat. Shockwave. The messenger was blown back by the force of the blast. He felt himself hit the glass window as it shattered, and fall to the concrete of the sidewalk.

Unable to fully believe what had just happened, the bike messenger just lay there stunned and bleeding for a few seconds. Then he managed to look up, using his right elbow to prop himself forward. The van was still crushed up against the Lincoln Town Car, but both of them were completely engulfed in flames.

Up and down the street, cars were in damaged from the explosion, some were burning while others weren't. The buildings along the street had their windows blown out, glass littering the roadway. And there were quite a few dead bodies as well.

As he listened to the screams, the messenger looked towards Federal Hall; and standing there unscathed was the statue of George Washington.

 **WBAL traffic helicopter over Baltimore, Maryland. 9:05 AM local time, 9:05 AM EDT**

The pilot leaned back and shouted back to the reporter and cameraman so as to be heard, "We're not gonna land yet!"

"You sure?" the reporter asked.

"Yeah! Studio says to head over towards the airport, they want footage of the airliners landing."

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 9:10 AM local time, 9:10 AM EDT**

"Well, now we know at least one of their targets."

Irving Hollins looked up at Esther Marcum's comment. "Indeed, do we have any idea yet about the number of casualties?" the boy asked as he idly flipped through a bound book.

Esther shook her head. "No, not really. But there are going to be quite a few dead, they hadn't shut down Wall Street before that van exploded. However, it seems to have been a smaller explosion than we expected, I'm not sure why yet."

"Thank God for small favors. Of course, we're still not out of the woods yet," Hollins replied. "Ah, it just occurred to me. Has anyone called Mr. Osbourne and Ms. Burkle to let them know that Mr. Harris is alright?"

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:12 AM local time, 9:12 AM EDT**

Joyce and Dawn had moved to the living room to watch the news on the larger television. They could see that the outside world was now definitely a lighter shade of grey, as sunrise was only about twenty minutes away.

"Dawn, go wake up your sister." Joyce looked apprehensive.

Dawn nodded and hurried up the stairs and started knocking on Buffy's door.

"Whatz is it?" was the mumbled reply from within the room.

"It's me, Dawn. You gotta get up."

"G'way, dark, no sun, Buffy sleep," the Slayer mumbled to the Key.

"Wake up Buffy, Mom says there's something happening on TV."

On the other side of the door, Buffy rose bleary-eyed from the pillow. "What?" she shouted out.

"Come on Buffy, move it! They're talking about planes, troops, bombs and all sorts of bad stuff!" Dawn shouted back.

Buffy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, not so bleary-eyed now. "I'm coming."

 **UC Sunnydale dormitory, Sunnydale, California. 6:14 AM local time, 9:14 AM EDT**

"What do you think is going on?" Tara asked Willow as they watched the TV screen.

Willow rubbed her face with a washcloth. "I don't know for sure. However..." She put down the washcloth and opened the desk drawer. "I think this is the perfect opportunity for me to get a decent grade in my media relations class assignment." She took a blank videotape and put it into VCR underneath the TV. It started recording, as the Today Show continued broadcasting news reports on 9/11.

 **Rural South Carolina. 9:17 AM local time, 9:17 AM EDT**

Elaine Cleburne looked out the kitchen window and saw her husband, Daniel walking towards the farmhouse, while three dogs ran alongside him. She looked down as she finished rinsing the plates from breakfast.

The door opened and Daniel came in, leaving the dogs outside. His wife nodded towards the TV playing on the kitchen counter. "TV's going crazy."

Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. "The idiot box is always going crazy." However, he did start watching the news just like his significant other.

 **Houston, Texas. 8:20 AM local time, 9:20 AM EDT**

Anthony Harris shifted his car into park, as he finished moving the vehicle into the parking space.

The move to the Lone Star state hadn't been too bad, he rationalized to himself. The settlement from those government spy types had enabled him and Jessica to move far away from Sunnydale, and all the strangeness that had entailed. It had also allowed them to start over.

They had cleaned up their act a little, in fact Tony had been able to get a decent job in the insurance business. He commuted downtown every day, and had also entered an AA program along with his wife.

{Yeah, things are definitely looking up for me.} Harris thought as he got out of the car, confident he would get to his office on time.

But it was rather telling that he and Jessica hadn't thought of their son for a *very* long time, ever since San Francisco. Also, he had forgot that Wolfram & Hart never forgot debts incurred.

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:23 AM local time, 9:23 AM EDT**

Buffy came into the living room from the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee in her hands. Although she had a Slayer's metabolism, she still needed a stimulant in the morning to get her juices flowing. Once she had been sure that whatever was happening wasn't supernatural in nature, Buffy had insisted on getting her caffeine fix.

"So what are they saying?" she asked, as the Chosen One sat down on the couch next to Dawn and her mother.

"They're talking about a car bomb on Wall Street," Joyce answered. "They're also talking about planes landing all over the country."

Buffy nodded. She took another sip from the coffee and stared at the TV screen.

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 9:25 AM local time, 9:25 AM EDT**

"So, we've got all the planes accounted for?" the bearded man asked.

Esther Marcum nodded her. "Yes, Scheuer. All the ones in the air are in a holding pattern over the northeast."

"Are they ready at Andrews?" Hollins asked, leaning forward to make sure he could be heard over the speaker phone.

"Yes, everything's in place. They're ready to process all the terrorists and then fly them to Gitmo," Rumsfeld's voice came through the speaker.

"Well, as amusing as it might be to keep him airborne, I suppose I should call Cleburne and tell him the fun part is over and it's time to land," Esther said as she reached for a telephone.

 **United Airlines Flight 11, somewhere over Pennsylvania. 9:27 AM local time, 9:27 AM EDT**

"Esther, it's nice to know you remembered," Cleburne said in a joking tone. "What's the status of events on the ground?"

Xander watched as Cleburne listened to Marcum for a few seconds. "Really? Damn," the Marine colonel muttered. "All right, I'll get everyone headed to the collection site." He disconnected the cell phone.

"Problem?" Xander asked.

"Car bomb on Wall Street," Cleburne explained.

"What? But - how, that didn't happen..." Xander said in confusion, suddenly feeling sick in his stomach.

Cleburne glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot who didn't know the big secret. "Kid, don't blame yourself. We both know history has been changing a lot for the past year or so, and this is just an extension of that. I'm telling you, this isn't something you could have foreseen happening; hell, even I didn't see it coming. So you are not allowed to blame yourself for it. Understand?" he commanded.

"But-" Xander started.

"No. End of discussion," Cleburne interrupted him. "Besides, we've done good today. Whole lotta people who otherwise would've died at the World Trade Center are gonna live. So I'd put that in the plus column."

Xander slowly nodded. "We're landing?"

Before Cleburne could answer, there was a commotion at the curtain separating the first class cabin from the rest of the plane.

"Ma'am, ma'am, please come back to your seat!" a stewardess called out from the back.

But the curtain parted, and an elderly woman came through. "I want to know what's going on! When are we going to arrive in Los Angeles?" she demanded.

Her appearance distracted the Siberian guard closest to the curtain. Unfortunately, that was the moment the people in the first class cabin discovered that there weren't as many terrorists under guard as they had believed after all.

One of the dead bodies jumped up and screamed, dashing forward, a glint of light reflecting off the knife in his hand. The elderly woman saw him coming and started backwards, but she stumbled and fell against the cabin wall. The Siberian reached out to stop the bad guy, but he managed to slash forward before being grabbed.

The terrorist was jerked backwards and gripped around the neck as Xander and Cleburne rushed down the aisle. "Watch the others!" Cleburne shouted out, referring to the other terrorist prisoners.

The bad guy struggled for a second and stabbed backwards with the knife, getting a good hit on the commando. The Siberian fell back into one of the seats with a grunt, bleeding heavily. The terrorist subsequently turned around and faced the oncoming Xander and Cleburne.

Harris got to him first, raising his left arm as the terrorist slashed at him. He used the Jeet Kune Do techniques Cleburne had taught him as Xander felt a stinging sensation, instantly telling him the weapon had grazed him slightly. He quickly struck forward with his right hand, grabbing the knife-wielding arm. The Timetripper then pulled his opponent forward. As the terrorist fell towards Xander, the knife searching for a vital spot, Harris hit him in the throat; then the young man grabbed his enemy's chin and neck and twisted viciously.

There was a sharp *crack* heard throughout the plane cabin, as the terrorist's corpse fell to the floor. Really dead this time.

The old woman started screaming in pain as she held her hands to her neck, where the good guys could see blood seeping through. Xander hurried forward, trying to help stem the flow of the blood and ignoring his own minor injury. He was joined quickly by Cleburne and one of the STW medics.

"Damn. We need to get her to a hospital," the medic said.

"How quickly?" Cleburne asked.

"Now," Xander barked out.

Cleburne nodded. He turned up the aisle to the other Siberians. "Tell the pilot to land immediately, closest airport with a hospital. I'm declaring a medical emergency!"

 **NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. 9:28 AM local time, 9:28 AM EDT**

Tom Brokaw pulled his chair closer to the desk. He looked over at the set manager who nodded. He could see the manager talk into his headpiece. After a few seconds, the manager pointed at Brokaw, indicating he was on the air.

"Good morning, I'm Tom Brokaw. For those of you who've just tuned in, there are a number of major developments occurring in the eastern United States today. We still don't know why, but now it can not be denied that the FAA has ordered the grounding of every civilian aircraft in American airspace. We are also receiving reports of Army troops in the streets of New York City and Washington D.C."

He went on, "However, the main story so far this morning concerns reports coming in of a car bomb going off on Wall Street. There are reports of many casualties and fatalities. We cross now to our reporters, live on the streets of Manhattan."

 **Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. 9:29 AM local time, 9:29 AM EDT**

"Where are they headed?" Rumsfeld asked, the whole room having heard Cleburne's report about what was going on up in the sky.

"Baltimore is the closet airport," an Air Force officer responded.

"Not Andrews?" Rumsfeld demanded.

"No sir, apparently the medical emergency necessitates for them to land immediately," was the other man's reply.

"Damn it, what are they planning to do with the terrorists - have them sit on the tarmac while a couple of taxis come to pick them up?" Rumsfeld said, clearly irritated at the turn of events.

"Sir, there is another option. An Air National Guard base at the airport in Baltimore," an Air Force Colonel sitting nearby said.

"All right. Someone call the commander over there to let him know that he's got some special guests coming," the Secretary of Defense announced.

 **WBAL control room, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:30 AM local time, 9:30 AM EDT**

The news director listened attentively to the message passed to him over the phone. "You sure?" He listened a few more seconds, nodded and hung up.

"Okay, someone call the news chopper. One of those planes that everyone is saying has terrorists on board is supposed to be landing out at the airport in the next few minutes. Someone's hurt and they called for an ambulance to meet the plane."

 **Disney World, Orlando, Florida. 9:31 AM local time, 9:31 AM EDT**

The female attendant in one of the booths that cars went through to get into Disney World leaned out, and took the money from the family entering the amusement park. In the back of the booth a radio blared out music, interrupted every once in a while with news bulletins of the extraordinary things happening all around the country this morning.

Still, families were continuing to come to one of the happiest places on Earth.

The car she had just taken the toll from drove on towards the park, so the attendant turned back to the road leading to the park. Then the young woman blinked at what she saw coming.

A U-Haul truck was speeding straight towards her. { Now that's odd, who brings a rental truck to an amusement park? } she thought to herself.

"Hey!" the attendant shouted out as she realized it wasn't slowing down. It wouldn't fit through the entrance. "STOP!" She started waving her arms, trying to get it to slow down.

The truck didn't slow down though, instead it accelerated. The attendant ran out of the booth, afraid the truck was going to ram it. At the last moment though, the truck veered to the right and just clipped the booth as it went around on the outside.

There was the loud pop and a blast of air of a tire being deflated as the truck drove over some spikes designed to stop cars from coming in without paying. The driver clearly had a struggle for a few moments, but he managed to regain control and the truck continued speeding down the road to the main entrance of the park.

The attendant stared at it as some of the other attendants ran over to help her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, what the hell was all that about?"

"Don't know, guess they really wanted to get in without paying or something. But don't worry, Felicia's calling security. They'll take care of it down the road."

The woman nodded and let them lead her to another booth to sit down.

 **Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:32 AM local time, 9:32 AM EDT**

"Let's go!" the paramedic yelled at the driver as he sat at the break room table. "We got a code red!"

The driver was instantly up and running towards the ambulance. "What's the sitch?" he asked as he started up the vehicle.

"Tower just called, they've got a plane coming in. Passenger with a stab wound on it."

 **United Airlines Flight 11, approaching Baltimore, Maryland. 9:33 AM local time, 9:33 AM EDT**

"This is the captain speaking. Ladies and gentlemen, we're starting our descent, so please remain seated and make sure your seat belts are fastened securely," the pilot said over the intercom, as Xander and the medic worked to stem the bleeding from the old woman's neck.

 **NBC News Studio, New York City, New York. The same time**

Tom Brokaw paused in his description of events and listened to what was being told him through the earpiece he was wearing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm told that we are now about to cross live to our affiliate WBAL in Baltimore, for news concerning one of the planes that an attempted hijacking took place on."

 **Disney World, Orlando, Florida. 9:34 AM local time, 9:34 AM EDT**

The attendant who a few minutes earlier had been forced to flee her booth sat in another one, awaiting word from security about the truck.

At that moment, she heard a large explosion. Looking up, she saw a fireball off in the distance as one of America's most famous icons was destroyed. Only then did the young woman connect what had happened with the news reports that she had been hearing on the radio all morning.

 **Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:35 AM local time, 9:35 AM EDT**

The ambulance sped down the runway. "Slow down!" the paramedic said in the back, checking his equipment. "We don't want to get in the way of the plane landing."

"Well, what about that news chopper?" the driver asked, nodding at a helicopter hovering near the runway.

 **Inside the WBAL traffic helicopter. The same time**

"There it is!" the reporter shouted and pointed at the landing aircraft. The cameraman zoomed in on the plane.

 **Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time**

"Mr. Secretary, we have a situation," a Navy officer called out.

Rumsfeld came over and looked at the monitor the officer had indicated. His relatively good mood instantly vanished.

"Damn it! Someone get the National Guard commander at the Baltimore airport on the phone!" he snarled as the image of the airliner landing unfolded on the screen. The caption on the screen read 'Live from Baltimore'. "And whoever decided to pull a stunt like this, I want their balls in a blender as well!"

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

The three Summers women watched the image feed live from the East Coast as the reporter narrated. Then Buffy leaned forward as the camera focused in on the airliner, her face growing paler by the second.

"That...that plane looks just like the one from my dream the other night."

 **United Airlines Flight 11, Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore. 9:36 AM local time, 9:36 AM EDT**

The airliner shuddered as the wheels made contact with the runway. Everyone in the plane could feel the brakes being applied, as they felt the force of the landing pulling them forward.

The plane quickly slowed down and taxied to the end of the runway.

Even before the plane had come to a complete stop, the medic was already getting up. "Come on, lift her carefully and let's get her to the damn ambulance!" Xander nodded and stood up himself. Three other Siberians helped him carry the elderly woman.

Nearby, Cleburne was giving orders. "As soon as she's off the plane, I want these three losers off as well. Don't put up with any attitude from them. Everyone else stays on board till we get everything sorted out on the ground." He made his way to the door.

He lifted the bar to open the hatch. The door opened and he looked out. "Ambulance is here and they're moving the stairway up to the plane, you guys ready?"

"Yeah, now get out of the way!" Xander said as Cleburne scooted to the side.

Harris and the others hurried out with their precious cargo. Xander, holding the woman's shoulders, was one of the ones out in front. He stepped through the door, along with the other Siberians who were carrying the wounded passenger.

And suddenly, for some people, the entire world changed.

 **WBAL traffic helicopter nearby. The same time**

"There, they're coming out!" the cameraman shouted as he zoomed in on the now open door and people started coming out.

"Donna, right now there are several men exiting the plane, and they look to be carrying someone. An ambulance has driven up to the airliner and the paramedics are hurrying to meet them. Also, there are several military jeeps converging into the area," the reporter narrated as the cameraman filmed the whole scene and broadcast it out to the world.

 **Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time**

"No, God damn it!" Rumsfeld shouted as he watched the video monitor. He almost lost it completely - because the U.S. Secretary of Defense could see Xander's face *very* clearly, live on national TV. "Get me Baltimore on the phone, RIGHT NOW!"

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California, The same time**

Joyce stared at the television in pure disbelief. "Oh dear God! That looks like-"

"Xander."

Joyce turned and saw that Buffy was now standing in the middle of the room, staring at the screen, completely ashen with her jaw nearly on the floor. She finally stammered, "My dream, it's my dream, it's all really happening..."

Dawn blinked at what she saw. "Buffy, Mom," she whispered. "How the hell is this possible?"

 **Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. The same time**

Rupert Giles had gotten up early before attempting to contact the Council for help, but with little success as expected. He'd then planned to head off for work at the Magic Box, but right now the Englishman was sipping a cup of tea instead as he earnestly watched the unfolding events on TV. Unfortunately Giles was watching CBS at the moment, instead of NBC, so he was unaware of what was going on in Baltimore at that precise instant.

 **UC Sunnydale dormitory, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

"Honey?" Tara asked Willow, who had a *very* unique expression on her face.

The red-haired witch was sitting on the bed staring intently at the TV. "Is it recording?"

"What?" Tara asked.

"Is it recording, the VCR, is it recording this?!" she demanded.

Tara hurriedly looked at the aforementioned device. "Yes it is." She looked again at the screen. "Say, doesn't that look like..." She stopped, turned and looked at Willow.

The redhead was still watching the TV screen, tears of joy and pain starting to run down her cheeks. "Oh, Goddess..."

 **The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

No TV set or radio was on in the lobby of the Angel Investigations headquarters, as the majority of the Fang Gang learned about Cordelia's vision. They were all unaware of what was being viewed by their counterparts in Sunnydale. This would in fact be very problematic for them in the days to come.

"We're saving *who*?" Gunn asked in shock.

"Wolfram & Hart?" Wesley asked with a similar amount of shock.

"I know, it sounds insane - but a whole bunch of people will die if we don't do anything. I'm guessing at least one of them must be an innocent bystander or a good guy, for the Powers to send us a warning about it," Angel said with a shrug. He had no way to know that Jasmine had in fact deliberately sent that vision to Cordy for another reason.

In the grand scheme of things the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart still had a major role to play in her plans, and the rogue Power didn't want it destroyed. Yet.

"When did being a good guy become so goddamn complicated?" Gunn muttered to himself.

 **Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:37 AM local time, 9:37 AM EDT**

"Over here!" the paramedic called out. Xander and the others carried the woman to meet the gurney that he and the ambulance driver were wheeling halfway.

"What happened?" the driver asked.

"Knife wound to the side of the neck, nicked a vein. She's lost quite a lot of blood," the Siberian medic explained.

"Okay, we've got her," the paramedic said as the group hurriedly wheeled her towards the ambulance. "When we get her inside, I want you to set up a fresh I.V. Gonna need a blood type too. Get her on a line of Wringer's lactate, and for God's sake watch out for hyper-bulimic shock..."

Back at the plane, Cleburne stepped out and then stood aside as the prisoners were half-walked and half-dragged out of the airliner. He surveyed the scene, frowning when he noticed the hovering helicopter. He pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"I want that helo out of my sky. Right now," he growled into the phone.

 **Rural South Carolina. The same time**

"That looks like Joshua," Elaine Cleburne noted as the picture on the screen panned over to the plane to get the image of the terrorists being taken off to their richly-deserved reward.

Daniel Cleburne nodded as he put down his coffee mug. "It is, I'd know that troublemaker boy of mine anywhere. Heh, at least he looks well. Oh, that reminds me, are he and his friends coming for Thanksgiving?"

Elaine leaned against the counter where the kitchen sink was. "I don't know. We might want to call and ask him."

"Yeah. Best wait until tomorrow though, he'll probably be busy the rest of the day with paperwork and everything," Daniel observed.

 **Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Ametila sat on the couch in her apartment watching the news. The phone on the table rang and she reached over to pick it up, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Hello?"

"Sweetie, it's me."

"Red, where are you? Are you all right?" she almost screamed into the mouthpiece.

"I'm fine. I'm at work right now, but I just wanted to call to let you know that I'm okay," Red answered quickly.

"What's going on?" the demoness said, her concerns being somewhat assuaged by the comforting words.

"Sweetie, I can't go into much into it right now. I'm still wrapping up my end of it, but I'll tell you what I can when I get the chance."

"Promise?" Ametila asked in a soft voice.

"Promise sweetie, now I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, if not sooner. I love you," Red responded.

"I love you too," Ametila said before Red hung up.

 **Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C. 9:38 AM local time, 9:38 AM EDT**

"This is going out nationwide, I take it?" President Bush asked, as he watched the TV screen.

"Yes, Mr. President," Esther answered over the speakerphone. "Unfortunately, we were unable to secure the airport in the little time that we had available."

"Well. I'd imagine that you're not happy with your people being seen in public like this, are you?" Bush asked in a snarky tone of voice.

"No sir, and Secretary Rumsfeld isn't happy either," Marcum answered. "In fact, I suspect that he and Colonel Cleburne are in a race to see which one of them can get that news chopper down first."

"Right. Well, I'd best make a phone call to the president of NBC, try to get him to pull the video footage since it shows undercover government agents in public," Bush said thoughtfully.

The aide named Henrick walked up next to George Bush. "Mr. President, your brother is on the phone. Something's happened in Florida."

 **Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:39 AM local time, 9:39 AM EDT**

The paramedics were finally ready to go, having stabilised their patient after they'd pushed the gurney into the ambulance and closed the back doors. The driver subsequently rushed to the front and the ambulance sped off, siren screaming.

Xander and the STW medic watched the ambulance depart. "I hope she makes it," Harris commented.

"So do I," the medic replied. "Hate to get this far in the mission only to lose someone now," he added.

They both turned and headed to the jeep where Cleburne was. The Marine colonel was coordinating getting the prisoners to a secure location while at the same time seeing to the welfare of the passengers. His mood had clearly darkened from a short while earlier, and the medic took that as his cue to split as soon as possible.

It didn't help that the whole scene was still being watched by the news chopper, up above.

"Don't look up. And I really mean it," Cleburne growled as they approached him. "That damn newshound is broadcasting our little performance to the entire world!"

"Should I get a Hollywood agent, then?" Xander asked innocently, even as he felt concern at the thought of his face being seen by the general public like that. It was almost enough to make Harris wish he had taken up that offer for plastic surgery, back when he'd practically been a prisoner and constantly moving around in STW's safehouses.

The remark just earned him a glare from the Siberian director of operations. "Yeah, maybe not. So what's the word on the other planes?" Xander asked.

"Heading to Andrews. They'll ship the bad guys down to Gitmo, send the civilians on their way and then meet up with us in Richmond," Cleburne explained. "Ah, good, I see someone is finally doing something about our snooper."

High above them, the news reporter was startled to feel the helicopter start to move away from the airport. "Hey, what's going on? Go back!" he shouted to the pilot.

"No way, man, I'm not playing games anymore!" the pilot shouted back, shaking his head. "We're already violating FAA orders, I'll be lucky if they don't take away my license for this. As it is, they're sure to give me a huge fine and a permanent black mark on my record; so last thing I want is someone in that thing over there getting trigger-happy!"

The reporter looked out at where the pilot was nodding and saw an U.S. Apache attack helicopter hovering ominously nearby. The man instantly cursed, for once not caring if he was on the air or not.

The cameraman leaned back. "Studio wants us back there ASAP. They want the footage we shot."

The reporter smiled, thinking he had finally gotten his big break in this business. But down below them, Cleburne smiled too. "Well, that's one problem half solved. Esther is taking care of the rest."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California. The same time**

Buffy stood still in the middle of the living room, staring at the TV screen as it returned to a picture of Tom Brokaw. Joyce and Dawn glanced from the TV set to the Slayer, as Tom started talking in the background.

"Maybe, maybe that could have just been someone..." Joyce started.

"No, it was Xander," Buffy said, already knowing what her mother was about to say. "I've seen him too often in my dreams lately to be mistaken."

"But how?" Dawn asked in confusion, still unable to deal with this ultimate shocking revelation from a few seconds ago.

"I don't know, but what's just happened - the plane, the ambulance, everything took place and turned out just like it did in the dream. It's real, he's the real Xander. I'm sure of it." The phone rang as Buffy finished her statement.

Dawn picked it up. "Hello?" She jerked the phone away from her ear as a torrent of Willow-babble issued from it. A couple of words could be picked out, prominent among them was 'Xander'. "I think it's for you," the Key said simply as she held the phone out to her sister.

Buffy took it. "Yeah, I saw him," she said when she finally had the chance. "You and Tara saw it too? It *was* Xander."

She listened for a few seconds, as Dawn watched her big sister frown. The brunette teenager then couldn't help it, she was suddenly a true believer; that Xander Harris had somehow come back from the dead. Her heart was instantly filled with pure joy, as ancient fantasies of becoming 'Dawn Harris' one day returned to the fore of her mind.

"I don't know how, but Willow, I *know* that it was him," the Slayer said with fierce determination. She listened for a little bit more. "What, you actually have the whole thing on tape? That's great!" Buffy thought for a few seconds. "Bring the tape over to my house, I wanna see it all again so we can decide what to do next."

 **Wall Street, New York City, New York. 9:40 AM local time, 9:40 AM EDT**

The news reporter glanced over his shoulder to make sure the cameraman, well camerawoman actually, was still with him. The two of them had been hurrying up and down the street for the last half hour, dodging the police and emergency services. They had gotten some good pictures from today's events, but the reporter understood enough about his trade that most of them would never make it out over the airwaves. He knew that the networks didn't like to show too much gore and death during prime time viewing.

The advertisers sure as hell didn't like it, and they were the ones with the big bank accounts here. Money talks, and all that.

However, all of the scenes and reporting would be seen by the powers that controlled who advanced in the news business. So making a good impression in that department could definitely have benefits down the road for him.

Then the reporter saw opportunity walking down the street straight towards him.

The reporter hurriedly got the attention of the studio. "Put me on the air, I don't care what else is happening at the moment. Just do it, do it now!"

He got the go-ahead, and the camerawoman gave him her thumbs-up. "Mr. Mayor! Mayor Giuliani!" the reporter shouted out as his quarry stopped and looked at him. "What's going on? Can you tell us anything about what's happened this morning?"

Rudy Giuliani was holding an oxygen mask near his face, all the dust from the explosion had made it difficult for some people to breathe. He pulled himself together, and the reporter marvelled at how his entire demeanour seemed to change once the Mayor saw the camera and the wily old pro got into character.

"My fellow New Yorkers, it's my duty to inform you that our city has just come under direct attack from hostile forces. Most likely you've already heard what happened here on Wall Street half an hour ago, but in addition to that someone just tried to drive a car bomb into the New York Stock Exchange. Luckily, they failed as they couldn't get close enough, but they blew themselves up when their way was blocked. Thus, there have been..." His voice caught for a second. "There have been many deaths in the past hour or so."

"Do we know who's behind all this?" the reporter leaned in to ask the question even as he scuttled backwards.

"The NYPD has been in touch with the FBI. They've informed me that it's the work of an extremist group called al-Qaeda," the mayor explained.

All around the nation, a truly black hatred was born in the hearts of many Americans for Osama bin Laden's terrorist organization upon hearing the New York politician's words. In the White House President Bush frowned for a moment, deciding to make a small but important change to his own speech that he knew he was going to have to make soon.

"What about the planes?" the reporter shouted out over the blare of an ambulance's siren.

"Apparently, they were intending to hijack them and crash them into the twin towers at the World Trade Center. Those animals wanted to kill as many innocents as they could..." An aide hurried up to the mayor and whispered into his ear.

"Oh dear God, no," Rudy Giuliani actually said in shock live on air, and everyone watching had no doubts that the nightmare had just gotten worse after seeing the typical reassuring mask crumble for a moment.

 **Situation Room, White House basement, Washington D.C.** **9:42 AM local time, 9:42 AM EDT**

"How many dead?" Bush asked in disbelief, incredulous at how this day was turning out so far. { It wasn't supposed to be like this, damn it! I thought we were on top of this thing! }

"They're still trying to get an estimate, sir. At least thirty confirmed so far, but that number is sure to go higher. The bomb exploded at full force near one of the entranceways. There was quite a bit of wreckage and confusion," the aide named Hembree answered.

"Why Disney World?" Rice asked.

"It is - it *was* a high-profile target, one that was relatively easily accessible," Irving Hollins answered over the speakerphone. "Not to mention, it had the added attraction of potentially numerous civilian deaths."

"The whole world knows Mickey Mouse. Every child in the world loves him," Clarke commented. "Outside of every McDonalds or Coca Cola plant in the world, nothing screams 'America' more."

"What about the other bombs and bombers?" Bush asked, glancing at one of the videoconference screens, in particular he was looking at the one with the FBI Counter-Terrorism Command center showing.

.

"We've got the ones in Washington, San Francisco, Denver and Philadelphia in custody," Mueller, the FBI Director, answered.

"We should have every single one of them in custody!" Bush growled.

"We've accounted for everyone we knew of, sir," Mueller answered. "We had no indication of any operation going on in Florida."

"Damn it! The ones we don't know about are killing people, American citizens! What can we do to stop any more?" Bush clearly was angry.

"The raids against their support networks here should help. The agents serving the warrants have been ordered to look for anything that might lead to other bombers," John Ashcroft said from his screen.

"That'll be too late, I believe. In my estimation all of the bombings will be carried out before noon," Hollins commented through the speakerphone.

Hembree idly wondered why this person only used a speakerphone instead of video conference like the others. But then, his was not reason why; his was just to serve the President as best as he could.

"So what do we have?" Rice asked.

"Prayer, and the hope that the local police departments can spot them before it's too late," Clarke said.

 **Baltimore International Airport, Baltimore, Maryland. 9:44 AM local time, 9:44 AM EDT**

One of the cell phones on the hood of the jeep started ringing. Xander leaned back from the front seat, noticing the four such phones that Cleburne had spread out on the hood.

"Old man, I know you like to stay in touch by letting your fingers do the walking, but don't you think four cell phones in addition to the one you've been carrying around is a bit much?" Xander joked.

"Not mine," Cleburne said back as he reached for the ringing cell phone. "Took these off the bad guys. They were chatting back and forth a lot before the big show."

Joshua answered the phone in a noncommittal tone. "Yeah?" He listened for a few seconds as Xander heard voices coming from the other end, and he was clearly able to make out how it wasn't English coming out of the cell phone.

The Marine colonel rolled his eyes, barely keeping his exasperation in check. "Listen up Omar, or Abdul, or whatever the hell your name is. Tell Osama that he got to throw the first punch. But he missed, and it's our turn now. Tell him..." Cleburne thought for a second, smiled and continued. "You tell 'em I'm coming and Hell's coming with me. You hear? Hell's coming with me." Cleburne disconnected the phone. "I loved that movie."

Xander looked at Cleburne with a questioning look on his face.

"Tombstone," the older man explained.

Xander's look didn't change.

"You've never seen one of the greatest Wild West movies of all time?" Cleburne asked incredulously.

Xander shook his head. "No. Used to be a fan of Westerns up until my junior year of high school, but after I met Ampata the Inca Mummy Girl." Xander trailed off, shaking his head. That International Dance wasn't exactly a pleasant memory for him. "Guess I just kinda lost interest in 'em."

"Kid, after you sober up tomorrow, you're watching the DVD of the movie, consider that an order." Cleburne turned away as he gathered up the remaining cell phones, thinking he'd have to do some more digging into Xander's past soon. {Inca Mummy Girl. Hmmmmm.}

 **Southeast Afghanistan. The same time**

The overweight, bearded man with a birthmark on his forehead disconnected the cell phone and looked out over the mountains.

The small group looked at him expectantly, in the middle was a tall and skinny bearded man.

It was to him that the man spoke.

"Something's gone wrong."

 **Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 9:45 AM local time, 9:45 AM EDT**

"Senator Lugar," the aide said from the doorway.

"Yes, Michael?" the silver-haired man looking out the window responded.

"The Minority Leader's office called, there's going to be a joint session at six this evening. Presidential speech."

The older man nodded. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

 **Brooklyn, New York City, New York. 9:47 AM local time, 9:47 AM EDT**

The crowd craned their necks to try and see past the police barricades. The street was filled with police vans and cruisers. Officers in body armour milled around, with a corner convenience store as their focus.

Out of the store, several men were brought out in handcuffs and taken to a police van. As they were loaded into the vehicle, police officers started carrying out boxes of papers from the store.

 **Daley Plaza, Chicago, Illinois. 8:55 AM local time, 9:55 AM EDT**

Large numbers of people were exiting from the buildings around the plaza. A lot of employers had decided to send their employees home in light of the extraordinary events happening throughout the country today. Thus, the plaza was packed with people heading off home.

Needless to say, this was causing problems for Officers Ted Ball and Patricia Garrett of Chicago's finest. The two of them had been sent to the plaza on crowd detail, and so far they were not enjoying themselves.

"Okay, move along, please proceed in an orderly manner!" Ball shouted as he motioned the crowd along. "Of course, they would all decide to go home at once," he muttered.

"Well, it's not like they planned it this way," Garrett said as she helped up a middle-aged woman who had tripped. "Please be more careful, ma'am."

"Only your second day on the job and already you get to deal with a potential riot, huh?" Ball declared as the middle-aged woman departed.

"This is nothing, you should see the crowd at the livestock show at the Iowa State Fair," Garrett said.

Ball could swear that he heard the capital letters in 'state fair'. However his response was prevented from being heard by the insistent honking of a horn on the street. "Great. Now what?" Ted grumbled as the two police officers walked over to answer that question.

A white painters van was trying to navigate through all the pedestrians crossing the street.

"Hey, hold it right there, let the people cross the street!" Ball shouted at the two painters in the van. The look on their faces showed a combination of apprehension, fear, anger and unease.

Trish Garrett looked at the two men sitting in the front of the van. They were dressed as painters and were both dark-skinned. At first she thought Latino, after all there were plenty of Latino painters in Chicago. Then she noticed something funny about the driver's right arm.

There was a wire running from his arm to lower in the van. She looked closer and saw some kind of plastic-mounted button was hanging loosely in his hand as it leaned against the steering wheel.

In the next split second, Trish remembered the warning about car bombs broadcast over the police radio nets earlier. She felt the crowd of people flowing all around her. She looked at the face of the driver, and suddenly she just *knew*.

Her right hand pulled the pistol out of her hip holster effortlessly and moved to meet the left hand. The female cop sighted in quickly. Three gunshots then rang out in quick succession. Three red blotchy dots appeared on the driver's forehead, as it jerked backwards from the deep impacts.

For a second, the street was quiet. Then the screaming started.

"Garrett! What the-" Ball shouted out.

"Bomb, they've got a bomb in there!" she shouted back.

The passenger of the van was stunned for a second. She saw him stare at her, before start to reach over towards the driver. So Trish fired two more times.

The passenger started screaming and cursing in Arabic as blood erupted from his left shoulder as he fell back into his seat. "Get him out, get him out of there!" Garrett shouted as she hurried to the door. It was locked, so she busted the window with the butt of her pistol.

By this time Ball had joined her, and two of them started to pull the passenger out of there. Ted had to reach in to unbuckle the seatbelt, the passenger resisting all the while. The seat belt undone, the two cops dragged him out. He was quickly thrown to the ground.

"Don't move! You are under arrest. Anything you say..." Trish proceeded to read the prisoner his rights as she cuffed him, precisely according to the book.

"You had better be right about..." Ball started as he looked through the broken window, but his voice trailed off. "Holy mother of God!"

His hand fumbled a bit as it hurriedly grabbed the radio microphone on his vest. "Dispatch, this is Two-L-19, we've got a car bomb at Daley Plaza. I repeat, we have a car bomb, shots fired and the driver is down, one accomplice in custody. Requesting immediate assistance, Dispatch, send the bomb squad over here right now!"

 **Los Angeles, California. 7:05 AM local time, 10:05 AM EDT**

The brown van went down the exit ramp on the city street. "Turn right," the passenger said to the driver.

The other man thought he did as he was told, as did the passenger, but in actuality they turned left. "Why these lawyers, I wonder? There are so many other infidels in this city that would make better targets," the driver commented.

"It doesn't matter, this target was personally selected by the leader. It is not our place to question his decisions," the passenger said harshly.

The driver nodded and turned all his attention back to navigating the city streets, he had been in the organization long enough to know when not to ask questions.

However, both the driver and passenger would have been wise to question their own senses.

 **Pripet Marshes, outside of Kiev, Ukraine. 5:25 PM local time, 10:25 AM EDT**

The male teenager pulled at the reins on the donkey. He wanted to be home before sunset. In this part of the world, he like so many others didn't like being out and about after the sun had gone down.

A thumping sound came across the marshes, and the donkey clearly got scared. The boy tried to calm the animal down, muttering at it in Ukrainian. Another thumping sound was heard. The youth looked around, his eyes turning to the north.

He stopped and his mouth dropped open, as he looked off into the distance.

It was a wooden cabin, a cabin on chicken legs, high up off the ground. The cabin had no doors or windows.

What shocked the male teen was the fact that the cabin was actually moving. The house was being propelled by the chicken legs. Each step of the legs resulted in a thumping sound, which explained what he'd just heard.

The cabin was moving at a crisp pace towards the sunset. The boy followed the cabin with his eyes until it was out of sight.

"Baba Yaga," the boy whispered, before he started whipping the donkey as fast as he could to get home.

 **FBI Counter-Terrorist Command Center, J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C.** **10:37 AM local time, 10:37 AM EDT**

"So we know now that Chicago was also a target," FBI Director Mueller said.

"Yes sir. We identified one of the two men in the vans as having entered the country last month. He was on one of the watch lists, actually," an aide answered.

"So why the hell didn't we catch him when he came into the country?" Mueller demanded.

"The list that Immigration had wasn't updated, unfortunately. They had been sent an update list, but they hadn't gotten around to giving it to the border control officers," the aide explained.

Mueller bit back a curse, there would be time for assigning blame and consequences later. For now, other things had to take priority.

"Okay, who else have they missed so far?" Mueller asked. "I mean, it's been one bomb per city according to what we've seen this morning. So what city haven't they tried anything in yet?"

Agent Malcolm Fletcher was staring at a map of the United States. "Los Angeles."

Mueller nodded, his stomach starting to generate a lot of acid. "Los Angeles."

 **Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Cordelia and Angel waited behind a concrete barrier. A van was parked and the shadow it cast shielded the ensouled vampire from the rising sun.

The meeting with regard to what to do about Cordelia's vision had broken up less than an hour ago, after some intense argument on how to prevent that van from exploding outside the realm of the evil lawyers. Wesley had suggested just informing Lilah or Gavin or whoever about what would happen to the demonic law firm, and let their internal security deal with the upcoming threat.

But as Cordelia had pointed out, that option just wasn't *sure* enough. Not to mention there might be...negative side-effects from dealing directly with the enemy that way, such as collateral damage on the street. If their backs had been up against the wall Angel's Avengers might have been willing to take the risk of an overenthusiastic SWAT team member opening fire and maybe hitting the Spring Street pedestrians, but not under these circumstances.

So Angel had asked for suggestions. Darla had said that maybe they should just send an anonymous phone message to the LAPD, and let them handle it. But Gunn had quickly vetoed that idea, knowing how busy the cops were these days and how easily such phone calls could be traced as well, the distrust the police force had bred over the years coming back to haunt all involved.

And that was when Cordelia had come up with her own particular brand of genius.

"You've got to be kidding," Angel had said in disbelief after hearing the brunette seer's idea.

"No, I'm *not* kidding. What? I think it'll work," Cordy had told her boss in annoyance. "What makes you automatically think it wouldn't work?"

"Well, they'll notice what we're doing, for starters," Wesley had said simply.

"Hey, people are fooled every day. They can be tricked," Charles had said thoughtfully.

"This'll take more than just changing some street signs. They'll notice," Angel had riposted.

"We only need to confuse them for a little bit. How you're going to scare them into giving up is what I'm worried about," Darla had said as she propped up her feet. "It's not like you can just point a big cannon at them."

"Why not?" Cordelia had asked. "Or something similar..." She had then told them her new idea.

Angel had frowned after she finished up. "Okay, having been on the receiving end of one of those, I can say that they *are* pretty intimidating. But, where do we get one?"

Gunn had spoken up, "Guy passed through from Compton while back, said to my boys that his compadres had 'liberated' a few recently. What the hell, the gang warfare around his 'hood would explain why. So if I hurry, I might be able to find him in time for us to grab some of his loaners."

"But who do we know that's able to use those things?" Darla had asked.

"Well," Cordelia had shrugged. "How hard can it be? I mean if Buffy the blonde wonder managed to use one, I'm sure we can figure out which button to push."

The meeting had broken up in a mad scramble to get everything they needed.

Now they were all assembled. "Is this actually going to work?" Gunn asked the others.

"They're here, aren't they?" Cordy answered, nodding down. Below them, the van they'd been waiting for drove through a tunnel into the Los Angeles Sixth Street viaduct. "Good job Wes," she said into the van where Wes was chanting with Virginia Bryce.

Angel silently agreed. "Gunn, your people are up."

"On it," Gunn replied as he brought the cell phone he was carrying up to his face. "Showtime, everybody."

The sound of a diesel engine could be heard as an old bus drove out of the tunnel that the van had just come through. The bus stopped halfway and the driver could be seen to run back down the tunnel.

Along the concrete wall looking down into the viaduct, Gunn's gang members stood up. Some were armed and pointed their weapons at the van.

"Wes, that's it, we're ready now," Angel said to the chanting ex-Watcher. "End the spell."

"Stop those SOBs," Gunn ordered succinctly, after a nod from the male vampire.

"Gotcha," the gang member closest to Gunn said as he pointed a sniper rifle.

The van slowed down as the driver could be seen looking around in confusion. The sniper rifle barked out and the left front tire flattened. A second shot followed quickly and the rear left tire deflated. "Damn, I'm a good shot!" the gang member announced proudly.

"Okay, now let's scare those guys into giving up," Angel said, being careful to stay away from the sunlight.

"Here you go," Lorne said in distaste as he handed a long tube to Cordelia. Gunn picked up one also, as did two of the gang members. The ensouled vampire glanced down at the weapons being handed out that Gunn had been able to procure for this current assignment. The rocket launchers were the same kind as the one used to blow up the big blue demon known as the Judge back in 1998.

Angel could well remember that explosion as he - well, his soulless alter ego Angelus anyway - and Drusilla had dived off that mall balcony, after Buffy had blown up her enemy and huge chunks of the Judge splattered around everywhere. The heat and the noise and the sudden activation of all the sprinklers were pretty much burned into his memory.

Just like they were with Cordelia's, as a matter of fact. Holding this weapon in her hands right now reminded her greatly of her first love, during what almost seemed like the 'good old days'. Focusing though, the brunette woman quickly sighted in on the van as it sat in the middle of the viaduct.

The seconds passed by with nothing happening.

"Guys, I know the plan was for them to surrender, but maybe they don't know that," Angel said, starting to worry.

"How can they not know? I mean they're just sitting there," Cordy commented.

"Cordelia, they were on their way to blow themselves up in a van full of explosives, perhaps rationality is something which escapes them. I think we might need to explain the situation to them," Wesley said, wiping his brow as the strain of the spell had taken quite a bit out of him.

"Okay, well, then who's going to go tell them?" Cordy could see one of the terrorists peering out of the passenger window at her as she asked that. He had to be able to see all the M72 Light Anti-Armor Weapons being pointed at him that could even take out an army tank.

"Well, I can't go," Angel said. "The sun's out."

"Okay, Mr. Sun is a good excuse for you," Cordy commented acidly. "How 'bout you, Gunn?"

"Me? Somehow, I don't think these guys are gonna take kindly to a brother walking up and knocking on the window."

"No one should go near them as long as they're in that van," Wesley said. He stepped forward, sagging a little bit as he did so. Virginia Bryce placed her hands on his shoulder in concern. The former Watcher smiled at the wizard's daughter. "It's all right."

Wesley then cupped his hands around his mouth to make an impromptu megaphone. "Hello, you there in the van, you're surrounded and you can't get out of the viaduct. No one will be hurt if you carry out your mission here. You can't get to Wolfram & Hart now, and there's no point trying to continue. Step out of the vehicle and you'll not be harmed."

A silence followed.

"Ah, guys, when they surrender - what exactly do we do with them?" Gunn asked suddenly.

The Fang Gang looked at each other. "Well, I suppose we could call the police and-" Cordy started.

"Something's happening," Gunn interrupted. Below them, one of the doors of the van was opening.

Angel peered down as best as he could. Something felt wrong to him. Surviving as long as he had, he knew when to trust his gut. "Get down!" the male vampire shouted as he reached out and pulled Cordelia to safety, feeling the skin on his arm burn as he did so.

The van disintegrated with a thunderous explosion of light and sound. The bombs inside the truck ignited into an *huge* conflagration, and the two suicide bombers ceased to exist. However, with the explosion taking place down in the viaduct, no civilians were present to be hurt and no property was destroyed.

"Oh my God!" Cordy shouted as the Fang Gang and the Lost Boys picked themselves up from the ground.

"Damn, they blew themselves up! What the hell were they thinking?" Gunn blurted out.

"Remember, they intended to kill themselves in order to murder large numbers of innocent people. A rational person wouldn't have done so, but clearly they were not rational," Wesley said.

Angel was patting down the smoldering jacket sleeve from where his skin had been exposed to sunlight. "Mission accomplished anyway. Now let's get outta here before someone comes looking to see what happened."

 **Tate Student Center, University of Georgia, Georgia. 10:45 AM local time, 10:45 AM EDT**

Monica Carter quickly walked across the lobby, she had a class at eleven. She had left her apartment late today because she'd gotten all wrapped up watching the news.

Throughout the student center, there were clusters of university students around hastily-erected television monitors watching the national developments. This was a day that would be long remembered in the history of the United States, after all, despite Xander's interference with the timeline.

"Monica!"

The Dance Team member turned to see Angela, a fellow Dancer, calling out to her. Monica quickly walked over to her friend.

"Did you see? Did you see?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, I was watching at the house. It's awful what happened in Florida," the blonde Buffy lookalike replied.

Angela shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. Remember that stud you hooked up with after the game on Saturday?"

Monica frowned, she *did* remember her most recent lover. She had enjoyed her time with him immensely, right up until he had stormed out of her bedroom with a pissed look on his face anyway. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, they showed some of the FBI agents getting off one of the planes after arresting the hijackers. Guess who the first one off the plane was?" Angela answered with a knowing smirk.

Realization sank in with Monica. "What? Him? You sure?"

Angela nodded with a 'cat who ate the canary' type grin. "Oh yeah, you bagged yourself a hero."

Monica, the Dancer who was also a journalism student, glanced around. She saw who she was looking for several yards away. "Hey, Vic!" she called out.

The target of her shout came over. "Yeah, Monica?"

"You work in the director of athletics office, and I need to know about some people who got field passes at the last game. Can you help me out here?"

 **Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. 7:57 AM local time, 10:57 AM EDT**

Rupert Giles stirred his cup of tea, it had certainly been a hectic morning so far. Giles contemplated that it was probably about to get even more hectic from Willow's phone call, saying that she had something incredible to show him. Once he had managed to interrupt the stream of Willow-babble, Giles had told her to come over to his place.

A pounding on the front door instantly told Giles that Willow was here. He placed the cup down and opened the door. Willow rushed in, followed closely by Tara.

"Where's your VCR?" Willow asked, out of breath.

Giles pointed to the living room on the shelf next to the TV. Willow hurried over to it as Tara walked up next to Giles. "Did you watch NBC news earlier?" she asked.

Giles shook his head as Willow turned on the VCR and started rewinding the tape. "No, I-I was watching CBS."

"Then you'll want to see this," Willow said firmly as she pressed Play.

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 11:07 AM local time, 11:07 AM EDT**

Esther Marcum put the phone back on its cradle. "Well, Cleburne and the others from United Flight 11 are on their way to Andrews AFB. The prisoners are being transferred there as well for transport to Gitmo."

Hollins nodded. "Good, having everyone in the location we prepared for the debriefing will reduce the chances of further complications."

Marcum leaned back in the chair behind her desk. "Well, we've certainly had our share of complications so far. The President has talked to the chairman of GE, and that should take care of the video footage ever being shown on TV anymore."

"Good, that should head off Rumsfeld's and Cleburne's coronaries. Still, we don't know how many people might have recorded what they saw while they were watching it. At any rate, I've been thinking about the problem," Hollins commented.

"Go on," Esther said.

"I think our best bet would be to edit the footage, either take Mr. Harris out completely and put someone else in his place, or else alter the image to the point where he is no longer recognizable. Then we let NBC release it again."

Esther smiled. "An excellent idea." Then she frowned. "However, there will be some people who'll notice the changes."

"Hopefully, anyone who does won't realize the significance of Mr. Harris's absence," Hollins replied, not knowing that already someone did fully realize the significance of what they'd seen today.

 **FBI field office, Baltimore, Maryland. 11:18 AM local time, 11:18 AM EDT**

"Good morning, Federal Bureau of Investigation Baltimore office. How may I direct your call?" the receptionist said.

"I'd like to talk to Xander, Xander Harris, no, wait, you may know him as Alexander, uh, Alexander Harris please," a breathless female voice said.

The receptionist waited for a second as she consulted the office directory. "I'm sorry, but there's no one by that name registered as working here at this field office."

"No, no, he was one of the agents on the plane, the plane with the terrorists, I saw it, you must have a way to get in touch with him, uh, maybe you can connect me to the agents at the airport?" was the babbled response.

"I'm sorry, we do not have anyone here by that name and as far as I know there are currently no FBI agents at the Baltimore airport." She started taking notes on the call-in log. This woman hadn't been near a television for the last couple of hours or so, and thus she was unaware of what the caller was referring to.

"Look, I know you probably have to say that, but I'm his best friend, please let me talk to him!"

"Miss-" the receptionist started.

"Look, please just tell him I called, let him know that Willow Rosenberg back in Sunnydale misses him and I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. Please tell him that, tell Xander that. Will you, will you tell him please?"

The receptionist rolled her eyes and gave in to the urge to lose her temper. "All right, that's it. Look, miss, we've got enough going on today that we don't need crank calls cluttering up the phone lines. Now I've got other calls to take, so have a nice day." She terminated the connection, wondering why days like this brought out the crazies as she tore off the sheet from the call-in log and filed it.

 **Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland. 11:27 AM local time, 11:27 AM EDT**

The military police lieutenant looked up from his clipboard. "How many?" he asked.

"Three from Flight 77," Red answered.

The lieutenant nodded and made a note on the clipboard as behind Red, the Siberian agents were escorting the three terrorists towards the holding area. The military officer looked up and frowned. "What happened to that one's nose?" he asked, waving the clipboard at the first terrorist.

"I think it got broken," Red explained simply and then pointed at the cut on of his right cheek.

"Ouch, that might leave a scar," the lieutenant muttered.

"Tell me about it," Red grumbled.

The other officer waved over to one of his MPs. "Get a corpsman to take a look at this prisoner before we transport him."

 **Daley Plaza, Chicago, Illinois. 10:41 AM local time, 11:41 AM EDT**

The bomb disposal expert almost waddled across the plaza thanks to all the body armor he was wearing. After several minutes, he reached the bomb disposal van.

'Well?" the waiting police official asked.

The man removed his helmet and visor and took in a deep breath. "Well, we definitely need to send a thank-you note to the officers who stopped these guys. If they hadn't, it would have been ugly."

"That bad?"

The expert shook his head. "We're talking Oklahoma City, or maybe even worse. Some of these buildings wouldn't be here right now if that bomb had gone off. It was real close, the trigger was hanging from the driver's hand. A few seconds more and we would have had a salvage operation instead of a defusing one."

 **Outside the White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C. 12:11 PM local time, 12:11 PM EDT**

"How long before we can go back inside?" one of the reporters asked.

The White House press aide rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. Once the Press Corps had figured out that they weren't going to be blown up right away, secondary concerns had become paramount in their minds.

Some of the reporters were working hard to get information in their never-ending quest for scoops and glory. They had been very *demanding* in their attempts to acquire knowledge of just what was going on.

The aide could understand that. However, some of the others were, well, just plain whining annoyances.

They wanted to know why coffee and refreshments weren't being set up for them. They complained about there being not enough shade. A couple of the reporters had actually demanded to know when the President would come out and brief them personally.

They just couldn't understand that the Man might be too busy for them at the moment.

The aide suppressed a curse, if only the public could understand how things really were in this business...

 **Kabul, Afghanistan. 9:05 PM local time, 12:35 PM EDT**

He could feel that he was about to start sweating. He had heard the news from Northern Afghanistan and knew that the Northern Alliance would be on the move soon. Now this had happened.

"No one in Afghanistan was involved in the events in America. The Taliban are a peaceful regime."

As he spoke, he knew his image was going out around the world by videophone.

 **Military Operations Center, The Pentagon, Arlington. The same time**

"He looks nervous," Rumsfeld commented as he watched the monitor with the video feed from Kabul on it.

"Understandable. He has to know that we aren't happy about their guest's antics today. No doubt they suspect something very bad is in store for them," said the Marine General, watching alongside the Secretary of Defense.

"Speaking of which, what's the word from General Franks?" Rumsfeld asked.

"He says that they're waiting on the execution order," was the reply.

Rumsfeld sighed. "Well, I suppose we should see to that. Get me the Situation Room."

 **Siberian Town House, Richmond, Virginia. 1:00 PM local time, 1:00 PM EDT**

Oz walked out of the kitchen carrying two soda cans. He walked into the living room and handed one of the cans to Fred, who was watching the TV. Samantha Finn had recently shown up and was currently in the bathroom, so right now it was just the two 'exiles' on their own.

"Anything new?" the werewolf asked.

Fred shook her head. "No, we probably know more than they do. Right now, they're actually interviewing each other."

"No repeat of the footage from the airport?" Oz sat down on the couch and took a drink from his soda can.

"No, looks like Xander's nationwide TV premiere is done for the day. Maybe we'll catch it in reruns," Fred answered with a shrug.

"Somehow I doubt it," Oz replied sagely.

Fred leaned back. "At least it's over now."

"You think so?"

Fred frowned. "They got all the planes, a-a-and I don't think there are going to be any more bombs today. Xander's safe."

Oz leaned back. "This blow-up may be over. But there'll be others, the world of the old Scooby gang is like that. Well, the world of Xander Harris anyway."

"We can go out into the real world, at least sometimes, but Xander is trapped in his world," Fred said sorrowfully.

Oz actually grimaced. "Yeah, we're not trapped."

 **State Department Office Building, Washington D.C. 1:25 PM local time, 1:25 PM EDT**

"I just don't believe it. I know Mullah Omar, and he is a man of peace," the Pakistani General Mahmoud Ahmad said. "I told the same to Director Tenet and his advisors earlier today."

Richard Armitage rolled his eyes. At first he had thought it was good luck that the general in charge of the Pakistani ISI had been scheduled to visit Washington on this particular day. A lot of red tape could be cut through quickly and all that

Of course, that was before the meeting with the good general had started. The Pakistani intelligence services had quite a bit invested in the Taliban, enough that they were willing to overlook some of their transgressions.

However, Armitage was in the process of making clear to this man that some transgressions were not worth the price of overlooking.

"General, let's stop playing games. You know as well as I do what's been going on in Afghanistan for the past few years. Your government had what it believed was good reasons to support the Taliban regime. After all, it's right there on your back doorstep. However, after today, the United States cannot overlook the actions of the Taliban and those it protects. We would not expect you to do so, if our positions were reversed."

"These actions, you claim they were the actions of bin Laden, he is not Taliban. You can't hold the Taliban responsible for his actions," was the reply from Mahmoud Ahmad.

"General, bin Laden is protected by the Taliban. The Saudis requested that he be returned to them, but the Taliban refused because he was doing their dirty work for them. Just look at that attempted assassination of Ahmad Shah Massoud."

"Attempted assassination-?"

Armitage nodded. "They missed. Not very competent, were they? In fact, the best al-Qaeda could do was blow up the entrance to an amusement park. They're someone who really knows how to be on a winning side." He leaned in close towards the Pakistani official. "My country is very angry at the moment, and rightly so. We've been attacked right here on our home soil. We will not stand for such actions, General. Bottom line, from now on - you are either with us or against us."

The Pakistani military officer sighed. { Americans. I will have to contact my president... }

 **Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 2:30 PM local time, 2:30 PM EDT**

Condoleeza Rice looked around the hearing room full of Senators and Representatives. They were all looking at the front of the room, where an intelligence official was talking and pointing at the screen that had been set up.

She knew it was a complete dog and pony show, but sometimes that was what it took to get the facts across. These Congressmen were going to be asked to cast some important votes later on today.

Therefore, they needed to know why they were being asked to do so.

 **Lisbon, Portugal. 7:35 PM local time, 2:35 PM EDT**

The man known as Cyrus took a drink from his glass of wine as the South African mercenary watched the television above the bar. All around the craggy blonde, the other patrons of the hotel bar were doing the same thing.

Needless to say, the events currently taking place in the United States was the subject of their attention.

Cyrus smiled as he put the glass back down. Unlike the others present, he had a fairly good idea what was going to happen now.

The Americans were no doubt very angry right at the moment. And angry Americans, well, Cyrus knew enough history to accurately guess what they would most likely do.

 **USS Kitty Hawk, Indian Ocean. 11:57 PM local time, 2:57 PM EDT**

The Ranger lieutenant nodded to the sergeant next to him. "It's time."

The sergeant turned to the men in the briefing room. "Okay, you heard the lieutenant. Let's go." All around the room, soldiers in battle gear stood up and started heading to the door. "We've got an appointment to keep."

 **Spartanburg, South Carolina. 3:07 PM local time, 3:07 PM EDT**

The former priest known as Caleb shook his head as he exited the diner. Everyone in there had been gaping at the idiot box, and muttering about hitting back at the terrorists. No one seemed to care about the wicked immorality that was all around them. { What's wrong with them all? }

That waitress who had been cavorting around the diner, she just begged for 'correction' and Caleb was looking forward to being the one to give it to her.

"No time for that now."

Caleb started and looked next to him. There was a small blonde young woman who hadn't been there a few moments before. Without her saying so, Caleb knew who/what he was talking to.

"She needs to be taught her proper place," Caleb said, just to test the waters.

Buffy/the First shook her/its head. "Yes, but there are other more pressing matters I need you to attend to." She started walking towards Caleb's truck. "Come on. I'll tell you all about it while you're on the road."

 **FBI field office, New York City, New York. 4:05 PM local time, 4:05 PM EDT**

The FBI agent navigated the crowded conference room, carrying a box crammed full of papers. Around the room, other agents were going through similar boxes. "Where do you want this one?" he asked.

The SAC at the head of the table motioned. "Over there."

"There's a truck full of these downstairs," the first agent said.

The Special Agent-in-Charge sighed. "Yeah, I know. We'll be here for days going through it all, still - this stuff is pure gold. They clearly didn't expect us to come knocking when we did." He opened the box just put down in front of him. "Now let's see what we have here..."

 **United States Capitol Building, Washington D.C. 6:01 PM local time, 6:01 PM EDT**

The House Sergeant at Arms looked around the crowded anteroom. Secret Service agents were present and packed almost wall to wall, and it was enough to make him slightly nervous.

"Are you ready, sir?" the man asked.

The subject of the question just nodded. The Sergeant at Arms turned and opened the door. He stepped through.

"Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States."

 **USS Cheyenne, Indian Ocean. 4:08 AM local time, 7:08 PM EDT**

"Captain, flash message from Pearl Harbor!" the sailor said, handing the printout he had carried from the communications center to the captain.

The ship's commander took the sheet and looked it over. He then looked over towards the XO.

"Orders from National Command Authority. Take us out, time to bring the Tomahawks out to play."

 **Pakistani Air Force Base, Southern Pakistan. 4:13 AM local time, 7:13 PM EDT**

The technician looked in wide-eyed disbelief at the radar screen in front of him, his face bathed in green light. He fumbled for the phone next to his elbow.

"Sir, I have multiple contacts and - now there's more of them..."

He listened for a few seconds. "Yes sir, I know what you said, but there are so many of them. Are you sure we shouldn't do something?'

Again he listened, frowning as he did so. "Yes sir. Just keep watching them. I understand, we are not to interfere in any way." He hung up the phone.

"Well?" the technician next to him said.

"No change in our orders. We watch and do nothing, as they go across our borders."

 **Richmond International Airport, Virginia. 7:47 PM local time, 7:47 PM EDT**

The Lear jet taxied to a stop in the private hangar. As it stopped, the door opened and the built-in staircase was lowered to the tarmac. Cleburne swiftly came out of the door, followed by Xander and Gunny.

"Okay, you two, no lagging behind, we got us a bar that definitely needs visiting," Cleburne said. The three quickly walked to a nearby automobile.

Xander turned and looked back to the jet. "Hey, Red! Sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked.

Red shook his head and he leaned out of the door. "No, I've got my girlfriend waiting for me in Los Angeles. You guys enjoy yourselves, just don't get too wild." He smiled and then closed the door of the jet.

The trio got into the car. "Come on, everyone else is already there! If we're not careful they'll empty out the bar. Gunny, step on it!" Cleburne said as he closed the door.

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 5:15 PM local time, 8:15 PM EDT**

The Scoobies were assembled at Giles' magic shop. It had been a long day witnessing 9/11 and its aftermath, and the members of the gang who hadn't seen the tape before now had just been shown the video that Willow had recorded. Needless to say, the news was a shock to all the newcomers present.

"The tongue is alive?"

"Anya!" Buffy and Willow exclaimed in unison.

Giles sighed. "Ms. Jenkins, if by that remark you mean that Xander Harris is still alive, then yes - that is correct."

"But it can't be, he died when the high school blew up," Andrew said in consternation. "Even I know that!"

"Well, he didn't," Willow said firmly. "Xander's alive."

"Maybe that FBI agent just looked like him. Also, the picture was taken at a distance..." Andrew continued.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "It certainly looked like Xander to me. How sure are we that it was him?" he asked delicately.

"It's him," Buffy said with authority.

"I-it is a safe assumption, based on Buffy's Slayer dream and its reference to the 'real Xander', that we are not mistaken about the identification. Myself, Buffy, Willow, Dawn and Joyce all agree that it is him," Giles added.

"So where's he been all this time?" Anya asked, trying to figure it out and failing yet again. "It's been over two years since your high school graduation!"

"With the government, most likely, a-a-and clearly they used his future knowledge to deal with these terrorist attacks. In, in the world that Xander remembered, the attacks probably took place as well, maybe on a grander scale, and-and so he would have told the authorities what he knew to try to stop them," Giles declared, his logic as flawless as usual.

Jonathan suddenly stiffened. "Timetripper!" he then shouted, eyes wide.

"On behalf of those of us having sex on a regular basis, what?" Anya said caustically.

Jonathan was hurrying into the back room. "Come on!" he shouted.

The others followed the male Scooby to where he was in front of the store's computer, he was furiously typing on the keyboard. "I came across this site a while back, I didn't think anything much about it at the time. I thought it was just some crazy website, y'know, for entertainment only," Levinson explained.

"What website?" Tara asked.

"This one," Jonathan said as he leaned back. On the screen were the big bold letters in Gothic font, "IT'S HIM!"

"This site has been claiming that the government captured a time-traveller from the future and was using his knowledge for strategic advantage. They've made all sorts of claims about him, th-they even call him the 'Timetripper'."

"They're talking about Xander?" Willow exclaimed in disbelief.

"It would appear so. Jonathan, just h-how detailed is this, um, website?" Giles asked, his technophobic nature rearing its head again.

"Uh, like I said, it makes a lot of claims. Some of them are just too incredible to put much faith in, well - they would be, if I didn't know what I know. Like, for example, there was this thing about the Timetripper finding and drinking from the Holy Grail..."

"Can you print out anything that might help us?" Giles asked impatiently.

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I can print out copies of those entries that are archived anyway." He turned on the printer next to the computer and then started typing on the keyboard.

Giles turned to the others. "Hopefully, this information will give us some clues on how to contact Xander."

"You don't suppose those government people are mistreating him, do you? Like, roughed him up to get the information they wanted?" Willow looked worried.

"Sweetie, if they did that then he wouldn't have been on the plane," Tara said. "It looked like he was helping them voluntarily."

Giles nodded. "She's right, Willow. It, it looks like Xander is actively working with the FBI or some other government agency."

"You mean like James Bond?" Andrew spoke up excitedly. "You suppose that they helped set up faking his death, y'know, like Sean Connery in 'You Only Live Twice'?"

"Don't be such a geek, Andrew. And James Bond was the product of a pathetic misogynistic author who had no idea how to treat women as anything other than sex objects," Anya said sharply, as everyone looked at her. "I swear, that guy was really lucky that no female ever summoned me back then to totally vengeance his ass!"

"Yes, er, moving on..." Giles decided to briefly polish his glasses. "It, it seems fairly clear that Xander was able to escape from the high school before we blew it up."

"Hey, do you suppose the government kidnapped him back then?" Dawn asked excitedly from where she and Joyce were standing off to the side.

Giles thought for a second. "I...perhaps. But they would have had to set up for that beforehand, and Xander was staying with Angel...who most undoubtedly would have told us about spotting strangers hanging around his mansion. No, the government probably recruited Xander afterwards."

Willow's eyes grew wide. "Oh my Goddess. That demon!"

"What demon?" Tara asked.

"The one that looked like Xander, remember? I-I-I told you, it looked almost exactly like him. It knows all about Xander, and o-odds are it intends to harm him," Willow explained hurriedly. "We've got to do something - the, the government doesn't know how to deal with demons, that's our job! Buffy, we have to do something..." Willow was in full babble mode and didn't notice the Chosen One not responding to her plea.

Jonathan spoke up, "Not sure if this helps, but the website talks about him and demons a lot. Some of the stories talk about him fighting them, but others, well..."

"What?" Giles prodded the former geek.

"Well, one of the stories has him helping fight this demon motorcycle gang? But another one goes on about how he stood up for demon rights in some small town somewhere in Idaho. It reads like he was a demon rights activist or something," Jonathan explained.

"I see," Giles said, frowning.

"So he's pro-demon? Good, we need more people like that around here," Anya declared as Andrew winced.

Willow pressed her point. "But the government doesn't know anything about demons! They could get Xander hurt, we-we need to find him. That demon that dressed up as him, they might not know what they're dealing with!"

"Willow, don't worry. I'm sure they've taken some precautions, also we'll do everything in our power to help him," Giles said soothingly.

"Angel knew."

The group turned towards Buffy, who had been standing in the entranceway of the back room lost in thought. "Buffy, what-?" Giles asked in confusion.

"Think about it, Giles! Back at Graduation, what happened that day. If Xander's still alive out there somewhere, then that whole thing was *planned* somehow. And it had to be timed just right, otherwise Xander might have gotten himself killed back then. You blew up the school when Angel yelled at you to do it, remember? And he wouldn't have risked Xander's life like that, at least not on a spur of the moment thing. They *had* to have planned it all out ahead of time." Buffy started pacing. "In order to make it work, Xander had to be sure that we would all end up thinking he was dead. He couldn't have done that all by himself, he had to have had help..."

Buffy stopped and stared at the group. "Which means Angel must have helped Xander pull the wool over our eyes. He knew, right from the start."

"Are you sure?" Willow asked, her eyes wide.

"Yeah! Think about it, Will; even though they were roomies for a few months, Angel's known way too much about future events ever since then," Buffy replied. "I mean, that whole thing with Darla for example! You told us yourself how he knew, months before it actually happened, that she was gonna become a vampire again - and he wouldn't say *how* he knew. Angel's probably been in contact with Xander this whole time..."

Willow sputtered in incoherent amazement for a second and Tara's eyes went wide as well, before Buffy started back up again. "He knew, he knew all along and he didn't tell us. He lied, he lied to us! He lied to *me*!" She shouted that last word with a look of agonized hurt and betrayal.

The room was silent for several moments.

"Buffy..." Giles started tentatively, even though he was pretty sure his Slayer didn't want to hear anything about lies of omission right now.

"No, Giles. We had a right to know, 'cause this is Xander we're talking about. We..." Buffy's voice faltered. "...we owe him. What we did that night outside the Bronze is something we have to make up to him."

Willow looked shocked. "You're right, Buff. You're absolutely right! When Angel visited our dorm that night, I talked to him about Xander. And he didn't say anything! I thanked him for saving Xander's life, and he looked me right in the eye without saying a darn thing. Why didn't he tell me?"

Buffy frowned and crossed her arms. "I don't know. But I'm sure as hell going to find out."

"Buffy, wait!" Joyce called out, as her daughter headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

"Los Angeles," the Slayer said with pure determination. "I've got an ex-boyfriend in that city who's in major need of a serious ass-kicking!"

Most of the males in the room winced in sympathy, before Giles said, "N-n-now, hold on a moment. Buffy, before you go rushing off half-cocked like that, we need to figure out some contingency plans. Like, like what might happen if Angel simply denies everything. Or, or what if while we're there confronting him, someone to tries to steal the videotape? I-it's the only bit of proof we have, after all..."

Buffy frowned, her hand resting on the doorknob. What her friend and father figure said definitely made sense; and like most of her generation, she had a healthy scepticism about the U.S. government being of the people, by the people, and for the people in this day and age. Contingency plans were therefore definitely in order, as her mentor had suggested.

"All right. We'll do whatever we have to today, and then go to LA tomorrow," Buffy growled as she turned around, seeing everyone nodding at the British man's words. "But I swear, once we get there? Angel's gonna find out just what it means to lie to me that way!"

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**Part Fifty c**

 **Kabul, Afghanistan. 5:38 AM September 12, 2001 local time, 8:38 PM September 11, 2001 EDT**

Dayna Curry pulled the blanket tightly across her body to fight off the cold of the chilly Afghanistan morning. In a nearby cell the woman known as Heather Mercer did the same thing, as did the other foreign aid workers recently imprisoned by the Taliban government.

The guards were definitely on edge, Dayna was sure of that much right now. Something had happened that made them nervous. Dayna idly wondered if their trial might be delayed - the proceedings had started about eleven days earlier. Even if, to be perfectly honest, actually calling it a 'trial' was laughable in the extreme. Then again, what else could one expect from a kangaroo court system like this one...

Her thoughts were interrupted by an explosion in the building. The other prisoners stirred. "What was that?" one of them asked.

There was shouting clearly heard outside the jail area. The sound of running feet could be heard as well. Then there was gunfire. The prisoners in the cells all made their way to their feet. They looked at each other, a few of them wondering out loud what to do.

Suddenly a shaft of light illuminated the room, as the door to the cell block was thrown open. In the doorway was one of the guards. Dayna was off to the side and could see the look on his face, which was a combination of rage, fear and helplessness. The guard looked around and his eyes locked onto Dayna's.

"Infidel whore!" he screamed hatefully as he raised an AK-47. "Die now!"

The other prisoners moved back in sheer panic and Dayna closed her eyes, preparing herself to meet her maker as she heard the roar of automatic weapons fire. When she suddenly realized that she wasn't dead, the woman opened her eyes and saw the guard face-down on the floor with several red spots on his back and a spreading pool of blood underneath him.

In the doorway now stood a man in battle armor, carrying what kind of looked like an M-16. He swept the cell with a beam from the flashlight he had attached to his rifle.

"I found them!" he shouted in English, before looking back to the aid workers. "U.S. Army Rangers. We're here to take you home." Behind him, several figures similarly dressed could suddenly be seen. The prisoners honestly weren't sure though if they were dreaming, all this was happening so quickly and unexpectedly.

"Secure the area. Keep the civilians here for now," one of the ranking soldiers said, and his comrade at the door nodded. Two more soldiers came into the holding area as the others moved away.

"Is anyone hurt?" the first soldier asked. The prisoners all shook their heads.

At the cell block door, another soldier appeared carrying a pile of bulletproof vests. "Put these on," the grunt said simply as he started heading out the garments to the aid workers.

"What's going on?" Heather asked while she put on her vest. "I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything, but - why are you guys here? You're risking an international incident or whatever doing this, aren't you?"

The soldiers were checking the aid workers, and the one nearest to Dayna answered, "Not today, the Taliban picked the wrong fight. And we wanted you out of here before they killed you already."

One of the aid workers looked distressed. "What about our families? My dad is right here in Kabul!" Other workers chimed in too, worried about their loved ones.

"Don't worry, they've been taken care of. Not many places a foreigner can stay here in this city," one of the soldiers replied. "We've got choppers picking them up right now."

"Are we going to meet them?" Dayna asked.

"Not quite yet," was the answer.

A sergeant stuck his head in the cell. "Area's secure, now let's move 'em out!"

The aid workers went out into the hallway as the soldiers formed a protective circle around them. The smell of cordite was almost overpowering. Automatic gunfire could still be heard down some of the hallways. They passed the bodies of guards every once in a while too. As they passed one intersection, they heard shouts in Farsi of "Out, get out, run as fast as you can. Don't stop until you're out of the city!"

"They're getting the regular prisoners out of the prison as well," one of the soldiers explained in response to the questioning look from Dayna.

"Why?" she asked.

"Later, now keep moving!" was the answer. They soon passed one soldier who was holding a handcuffed Taliban guard prisoner. The sergeant leading the column nodded, so the soldier leaned down and undid the handcuffs.

"Get out. Go home and maybe you won't get hurt," the PFC said as he pushed the guard in the direction the aid workers had come from. The Afghan wisely scurried down the hallway and out of sight, as the American soldier joined the convoy.

They turned a corner and started up a series of stairs. After a few minutes, the group stepped out into the cold morning air, high above the streets of Kabul. A stiff breeze blew by and made all the civilians shiver on the roof. One of the soldiers motioned the aid workers to lean down against the wall.

The sergeant spoke into a microphone attached to his vest. "Romeo Tango Victor, this is Alpha One. Ready for extraction, all present and accounted for."

After a short wait, which seemed far longer to the former prisoners than the soldiers, the sound of rotor blades was heard. A black helicopter landed on the roof of the prison, and the military men quickly ushered the recent 'guests' of the Taliban into the chopper.

A few seconds later they were in the air, flying over Kabul. The sergeant spoke into his microphone again. "We're clear. Send them our parting gift."

Dayna stared back at the prison she had recently been incarcerated in. After a few seconds, she saw a red line in the morning sky coming towards them. There were two lines behind the first one. The helicopter climbed with the sun just beginning to peak up in the distant horizon. She could now see the red lines were connected to three rockets that continued on their path.

The first rocket slammed into the side of the prison, and a huge explosion blossomed from the impact site. The second and third rockets flew into the blast zone and two more explosions took place.

As the smoke from the explosions thinned, Curry could see the prison. Well, what remained of it anyway, as flames and ruins was all that she could actually see. The building had completely collapsed.

The soldier who had been the first one into the cell block looked over her shoulder. "Good morning Joe Taliban. Come on, let's have the medic look you over. We've got a long trip back to the Kitty Hawk."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:10 PM local time, 9:10 PM EDT**

The sun, which was just rising in Afghanistan, was setting half a world away on the west coast of the United States. It was being watched by Buffy Anne Summers from her back porch. She pulled her jacket closer to her body against the cold breeze she suddenly felt.

The Scoobies had been busy ever since the meeting in the Magic Box earlier today. Jonathan had made copies of the videotape Willow had recorded, and the duo had safely hidden them in a number of places. The group had also tried to learn more online and from whatever was available on the news networks. Personally Buffy thought that Dawn was going to wear out the battery on the TV remote control, she had been changing the channels so often.

They had all taken turns looking at the website that Jonathan had discovered. Oddly enough, Giles had marveled at some of the details and constantly muttered about calling contacts of his. Buffy hadn't ever seen the British man polish his glasses so thoroughly, or heard so many 'good Lord!'s come out of his lips at a single session.

For her part, the blonde Slayer had had to fight the urge to just grab some car keys and take off to Los Angeles, on more than one occasion. The enforced waiting was not something she was handling well. She understood why it was necessary, but her nature as the Slayer called out for action and it was hard to resist following her blood that way.

Buffy knew she had been on edge all afternoon. She had spent the day watching the airport video footage, over and over again. Something had been nagging at her, but she couldn't quite place what it was. Eventually, the college girl had come out here to the porch so that she would quit bugging the others and so that she could think in private.

The Summers girl heard the back door open. A glance back showed her mother Joyce carrying two cups closing the door with her hip.

"Thought you might want some company," the older woman said, as she sat down in the chair next to Buffy. "It's getting a little cold out here." She handed her daughter one of the cups.

Buffy took it and took a sip. It was tea. { Man, but Mom and Giles really are getting completely domestic! Nothing says 'I'm dating an English guy' better than a cup of Earl Grey. Next thing you know, it'll be scones and warm beer.} Abandoning that line of thought, the young woman stared at the setting sun, but said nothing.

After a few seconds, Joyce spoke. "I wonder if Xander's doing the same thing with his father right now."

"No, somehow, I don't think that Xander's dad would share tea with him. Beer, maybe, but not tea. Besides, I heard he wasn't exactly the sharing type," Buffy commented, recalling an unpleasant meeting that Cordelia Chase had ranted about once. Back in the days when Angel had been the love of her life - not the man who had cruelly betrayed her this way.

Joyce grimaced a little bit, but said nothing. She too had heard enough to know Xander's family situation had not exactly been Norman Rockwell in its nature. Silence fell again as the two Summers women stared at the sunset for about a minute.

"He's alive, mom," Buffy said suddenly.

Joyce nodded. "I know, dear."

"But we never knew. Xander hid it from us," Buffy continued on, the pain evident in her voice. "Willow and Tara couldn't find him with their locator spells today; he hid from that sort of thing too. Xander doesn't want to be found. He, he didn't want to stay here with us-"

"Buffy, it's not that simple. Remember back when Willow did that memory restoration spell? I mean, not that I was there that night, but I learned later on that Xander couldn't be around any of us without having those terrible headaches," Joyce said. "Maybe that's why he did it."

"Mom? No headaches when you use the postal system," Buffy said sadly, still looking at the sunset.

"Well, that's exactly what he did, honey," Joyce said quickly. "I'm still alive today because of Xander sending us that letter. He could have just vanished completely and never said anything, you know, but he didn't do that. Xander made sure that we would know what we needed to know, about you, Dawn and me."

Buffy blinked a few times. Earlier today, her little sister had brought up the subject of her two so-called encounters with Xander, and the Key had had to be forcefully talked out of seriously hurting herself in order to activate that telepathic dream link again. { As if Dawnie needs to end up in the hospital *again*! }

Focusing, Buffy looked at her mother. "But mom, he still could have contacted us! This whole time we thought Xander was dead, we were grieving his loss, and it was all a lie! He was alive all along..."

Joyce nodded. "Yes, I know. But Buffy, try to remember what happened towards the end of your senior year in high school. I mean, Rupert's told me how he was worried that that Wesley person was going to cause trouble, that he might have told the Council to send some kind of thugs to kidnap Xander. He's had his reasons to hide."

"Right, even though Xander got himself kidnapped by the government," Buffy said snippily.

"No, dear, I don't think so. Like Tara said earlier, they wouldn't have ever let him get on that plane if that's the case. Also, I think he has some kind of influence with them - remember the surgeon who operated on me? Dr. Chalmers? He's from the same hospital that treats the President. Given what we know now, do you think it's simply coincidence he just happened to be in Sunnydale on the day I was scheduled to have brain surgery? And he also just happened to be here on the same day I was supposed to die?"

Joyce was silent for a few seconds to let the implications to sink in. "No, Buffy, Dr. Chalmers was here because Xander wanted it. Wherever he is right now, that boy has enough influence to make sure one of the top doctors in the country treated me. That doesn't strike me as the behaviour of someone being held captive."

Buffy thought for a second. "You're right. He can pull some strings. But if that's the case, why didn't he pull some other strings just to let us know he was still alive and kicking?"

Joyce sighed. "Let's be honest, dear. Would you have been satisfied with just that? Or would you have moved heaven and earth instead in order to personally find him? I'm sure Xander knew you well enough to predict what you'd do, and what all the rest of us would have done too. So he made his decision, and I suppose we just have to respect that."

It was patently obvious that Buffy didn't want to accept this in any way, shape or form. "But still, mom! I mean, I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, but not giving Willow, Cordelia and me *any* chance to make it up to him one day for what we did back then? That's just...not right." She started to cry, the tears of shame and regret coursing down her cheeks.

Joyce hugged her daughter and comforted her. "It's alright, sweetie. Look, there's a lot going on that we don't know about. Remember, he *has* been looking out for us, so he's not shut the door on his Sunnydale life completely." Joyce offered Buffy a Kleenex she had taken from her pocket.

Buffy leaned back and rubbed her eyes with the Kleenex. "But how do you know that for sure?"

Joyce thought for a second. "He's not been in touch with you."

Buffy frowned at that. "For those of us here who happen to be me, huh?"

"Think about it, honey. If he really didn't care about you, *at all*, would he have gone to so much trouble in order to hide from you? It would have taken some major effort to hide from Willow and Tara's magic that way. That's an awful lot of bother to go to for someone who doesn't care about you one way or the other," Joyce explained.

"I don't know..." Buffy started, not really convinced by that argument.

Joyce continued on. "And if Xander really hated you that much, wouldn't he have told you that to your face? Well, I mean not to your face-face, but in writing to you. Instead, he wrote to Rupert to look out for you. He could have written an entirely different kind of letter, but he didn't."

"Well, yeah. I, I suppose that kinda-sorta makes sense," Buffy said hesitantly.

"Of course it does," Joyce said firmly. {At least, I *hope* it does!} She thought to herself privately. "Also, it may be too painful for him to come here in person because of the bad memories."

Buffy nodded. "I know. We hurt him more than he could ever stand that night outside the Bronze."

Joyce frowned ever so slightly. "Actually, I was thinking more about Faith."

Buffy frowned as well. "Faith?"

Joyce nodded. "Yes, sweetheart. Think about it; he never even got the chance to say goodbye to her. I'd imagine there were a lot of issues Xander would have wanted to resolve with that girl, but he couldn't do it in person before she died - and now he won't ever have the opportunity to do so. That's got to be very painful for him." The Summers woman had no knowledge of Xander's brief encounter with Faith and Enoch while he'd been dead that night, and so she truly believed what she was saying.

Buffy played a little with the Kleenex in her hand. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Having issues to resolve, but thinking you never will - because he's dead." The memories of that possession by the poltergeist James Stanley three years ago were indelibly imprinted into her brain, after all.

"You know the pain. But, you don't have to think about anything else. Xander is worrying about you, Willow, what's coming in the future and what the terrorists were up to. That's quite a lot to have on your mind," Joyce said. She shook her head, "That poor child. I can't even imagine what it's been like for him, these last two years."

Mother and daughter stared at the now darkened sky for a few minutes.

"What do I do now, Mom?" Buffy suddenly asked.

Joyce thought for a second. She quickly turned to face Buffy and, reaching out, hugged her daughter fiercely. The middle-aged woman then looked into her firstborn's face and said simply, "Honey, listen to me. Make things right. You can fix this."

 **Fair Oaks Bar, Richmond, Virginia. 9:37 PM local time, 9:37 PM EDT**

Xander Harris took a deep breath, as noise from the bar he had just exited spilled out onto the street behind him.

He knew he wouldn't be alone for long. Someone would come out to keep an eye on him, it was simply one of the disadvantages of his situation that the Siberians didn't like him being unattended for any extended period of time. For now, he simply took a seat at one of the tables set up outside the bar entrance and just stared into the sky. { Seem to be doing that a lot, lately. }

As expected, the noise from the bar increased as someone opened the door and stepped onto the street. That someone quickly sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Brought you a beer, kid," Cleburne said as he put two bottles on the table. He opened one of the beers and took a swig. "Thought you might want some company."

"Not particularly," Xander shrugged, but he did take the offered beer.

"All right, I thought I might want you to have some company," Cleburne said, clarifying his previous statement.

The two sat at the table for a few minutes. Cleburne suddenly spoke up, "You did good today, kid."

Xander still hadn't looked at Cleburne, just staring down the street. "People still died."

"Not all those thousands of people that happened originally. You made a big difference," Cleburne responded.

"Well, I kinda doubt the families of those people at Disney World or the Stock Exchange would see it that way," Xander said shortly.

"Yeah, but there are a lot of families from the World Trade Center that would feel that way if we could ever tell them the truth," Cleburne shot right back. "What happened in Florida and elsewhere, you can't blame yourself for that. The bad guys changed the game plan from what happened the first time around, which means you can't hold yourself responsible."

"So do you know why it all happened differently?" Xander asked.

"Wizard has some theories. Said something about probabilities, and consequences after the Order of Taraka got wiped out. And that maybe after the attack on the Cole was blocked, Osama and his boys wanted to up the ante. A bigger bang for their buck, if you will. They added some more people, copying what Timothy McVeigh did in Oklahoma City."

"Oh, joy. We block one thing and so they come up with something worse. No offense old man, but life around you sucks. Well, maybe some offense," Xander commented.

"But the pension plan is great, let me tell you!" Cleburne chuckled. "Nature of the beast, kid, it keeps coming at you until you stomp down hard on that particular beast. Then you get to deal with the new beast."

"The Big Bad."

"What?" Cleburne asked of Xander.

"Back in the original history, every spring in Sunnydale there was a demon, witch or vampire out to destroy the world. You could practically set your watch by it."

Cleburne nodded. "Well, our big bads aren't on a similar schedule. Their schedule is based on Lord knows what - maybe whatever they think the Lord tells them. Must be nice, having a travel agent with divine connections."

"You don't have to worry about catching connecting flights," Xander joked. "'Course, you do have to worry about other things."

"Yeah, infidels like us," Cleburne said with satisfaction. "Anyway, kid, no matter what you think, you did good. You should be proud of yourself."

Xander snorted. "Well, then, I suppose I should get a medal or something?"

That earned a laugh from Cleburne. "Funny you should mention that." He pulled three envelopes from his jacket and placed them on the table in front of Xander.

Xander looked at the envelopes. "What, you got me something from a crackerjack box?"

Cleburne shook his head. "No. As you might have guessed, people in Siberian Trip Wire don't get medals. Kind of hard to explain black ops on the award citations."

"Yeah, you guys love to keep your secrets."

Cleburne ignored Xander's comment. "However, we do have a tradition of recognizing actions that go above and beyond." He moved the top letter closer to Xander. "Ever since Eisenhower, the President has written a personalized letter to a Siberian who really comes through. Think of it as our version of the Medal of Honor or Silver Star."

"Right. And that is-?" Xander asked, pointing at the top envelope. Xander could now see that it had the name 'Alexander Harris' on it.

"President Bush's letter to you, commending you on your actions leading up to today. We can't give you a medal, but this is a start," Cleburne explained.

Xander looked at Cleburne. "You're serious."

The Marine colonel nodded. "Oh yeah. That, kid, is the most treasured possession of many a Siberian team member. Red and Gunny both have received letters before."

"And you?"

"Reagan wrote me one in '84. Framed and hanging in my office," Cleburne answered proudly.

"I've never seen it."

"Kid, you've never actually been in my office."

Xander nodded. "Good point, and the other letters?"

Cleburne moved the second letter over to his companion. "You've done some things in the past, perfectly justified mind you, but nonetheless things that the penal code of California might take a dim view of. I know that right now everyone thinks you're dead and all, but still - you never know what might happen down the road."

Cleburne took a breath. "So inside this envelope there's a Presidential pardon, exonerating you for any actions you took which might have led to the death of Maggie Walsh, Warren Mears or that intern Ben Maxwell. Also, anything else there might be on your record is unconditionally pardoned as well."

For the first time in a very long while, Xander Harris didn't know what to say.

Over the years, he had done quite a number of things which he knew the conventional authorities wouldn't like - such as stealing that rocket launcher to deal with the Judge, for example. Not to mention his attacks on the Sunnydale gang's future enemies - or cold-blooded acts of murder, call them what you will. Here and now though, Harris suddenly remembered someone he hadn't thought of in ages.

One of the prisoners in that hell dimension, Xander had never known his name - Ken had drummed that into all of them, after all, how they were 'no one' - that had been part of the escape plan. The Judas of the group. The man who Soldier Guy had personally executed before he sold everyone out to the demons in order to save his own hide, and the slaves had finally made a break for it.

Looking at the envelope, Xander wondered whether President Bush's pardon extended even to that particular act. { Probably not, not his jurisdiction and I hadn't exactly been myself then for over three years. But I guess it's the thought that counts. }

"Okay, thanks. Still, I don't really see the need for this," Xander said slowly. "What's done is done, and Xander Harris isn't gonna be popping up in public again anytime soon - if ever. Far as I'm concerned, to the rest of the world he no longer exists."

Cleburne smirked. "Kid, you think the Marines are some sort of knockoff of the French Foreign Legion?"

A look of puzzlement crossed Xander's face. "Huh?" In response Cleburne scooted the third envelope across the table. Xander picked it up, opened it and started reading it.

After a few seconds, Xander looked up in sheer disbelief. "You have *got* to be shitting me, right?"

Cleburne smiled broadly. "Nope, no shit. Congratulations, Lieutenant Harris. Let me be the first to officially welcome you to the Corps."

Xander blinked. "But, but...come on, old man, this is crazy! 'Cause I'm officially dead, and besides, I never asked for anything like this. Hell, Cleburne, I've never done anything towards even thinking of applying for an officer's commission!"

"Guess again, kid. As far as I'm concerned, everything you've done ever since the Wizard convinced me to let you join STW has contributed one way or another. Think about it; you went into Wolfram & Hart and then Pylea, knowing beforehand what you might be in for - in order not to leave one of your own behind in the hands of the enemy. You've showed leadership ability in your operations. You also insisted on being on the planes today, you weren't willing to just sit on the ground and send others in harm's way. That's the kind of man who can pass through the Annapolis academy and officially get his lieutenant's bars. Trust me, you'll do fine as a Marine officer," Cleburne explained.

"I don't know what to say," Xander said, his mind awhirl.

"Then don't say anything and take it as a compliment," Cleburne said. "Yeah, what is it?" he turned his head around.

Gunny had come out from the bar. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Marcum, everything's ready. You can place the call now."

Cleburne smiled as only a predator would. "Thank you." He pulled out a cell phone and started to dial.

"What's up?" Xander asked.

"A phone call I've been waiting almost 18 years to make," Cleburne said as he held the cell phone up to his ear.

 **Damascus, Syria. The same time**

The line of four cars sped down the road on the outskirts of the city, concealed by the pre-dawn twilight darkness. The reason for the motorcade of cars and the bodyguards in them was sitting in the third car, nervously contemplating the events of the last day or so.

He had known what was supposed to have taken place, as he had actually helped plan parts of it. It was one of the largest operations he had ever participated in. He had been looking forward to this morning, to seeing the infidel pigs suffer as their lives were turned upside down.

But somehow, almost everything had gone wrong.

He didn't know how, but the enemy had known what was coming. Well, at least parts of it. It had been a setback, only two of the car bombs had gone off as planned in Orlando and New York. And Allah only knew what had happened with the Los Angeles bombing, it had certainly not been as successful as hoped.

Then, there had been this morning. There had already been panicked reports out of Afghanistan. The reports had been fragmentary, but he had a good idea of what was happening. He also knew that Afghanistan would not be the only place he had to worry about.

Which was why Imad Mugniyah was hurrying to downtown Damascus. He figured that he would be safe among the civilian populace of Syria's capital city and the protection of its government.

He jumped when his cell phone chirped.

"Yes!?" he answered in an irritated tone. This would probably be more bad news.

"Did you know that every cell phone in the world can be tracked anywhere, if you just know how?" a voice with an American accent asked in English.

"What?" was the startled reply.

"Oh yeah, it's amazing what modern technology can do nowadays. I know it's somewhat Big Brother-ish and all, however right at the moment I have to admit - I'm just loving the idea."

The terrorist leader looked around, panic growing in his stomach. "Who is this?"

"Well, now, I'm shocked that you don't remember me," Cleburne said, his tone dripping with venom. "So let's just say this is a greeting from the United States Marine Corps, returning the visit you paid to Beirut in '83. Enjoy your long-overdue trip to Hell, you prick." There was a click on the other end of the line.

"Pull over, pull over now!" Imad Mugniyah shouted as he was already reaching to the window. He saw a flash off in the distance.

A few seconds later, two Hellfire missiles from a predator drone slammed into the limo and the resulting explosion rendered any concerns over the cell phone completely moot.

 **Orlando, Florida. 10:11 PM local time, 10:11 PM EDT**

The halogen lights lit up the entrance area to Disney World. Well, what was left of it anyway. It wasn't a pretty sight. FBI agent turned Siberian Malcolm Fletcher really wished he was somewhere else, especially after the day he'd had today.

All around him, forensics personnel hurried about. This was a crime scene after all, a horrible one and terrorism-related, but a crime scene nonetheless.

There was procedure to be followed, and a crime to be investigated.

Fletcher stepped gingerly along the pavement. He had flown down by special plane earlier in the evening, on one of the few planes allowed to fly in United States airspace at the present time. Most of the others were military jets, constantly doing flybys over America's cities in order to monitor the situation.

He looked to his left. About twenty yards away were the twisted remains of what looked like a minivan. Malcolm figured it must have been blown here, as vehicles weren't supposed to park this close to the entranceway.

The local FBI agent that was Fletcher's contact stood next to him. "We've set up an evidence recovery site at a nearby high school gym. We're trying to reassemble as much as we can, but unfortunately we're still sorting out what debris belongs to what vehicle."

Fletcher nodded. He knew doing the same thing after the Oklahoma City bombing had yielded the information that led to McVeigh's arrest. The FBI was good at things like that.

In this case though, he already knew where the evidence would lead. "You have a good description of the van?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes sir," was the prompt answer.

"Good, then contact every rental van company within a two hundred mile radius. One of them is missing a van. We might get lucky and catch someone still loose."

"You think so, sir?"

Fletcher noted that the agent was young, probably only a few years out of the academy at Quantico. "After the '93 bombing of the Twin Towers, one of the bomb makers actually tried to get a refund on his rental fee, arguing that the van had been stolen. They might be that stupid again this time."

"And then?"

Fletcher stopped and looked about 50 yards ahead. There was a line of white sheets there, a line that stretched out way too far for his liking. He knew what was under those sheets, just like everyone else.

"And then," Fletcher paused for a few seconds. "We have ourselves a reckoning."

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. 8:32 PM local time, 11:32 PM EDT**

Lilah Morgan leaned back in the chair, keeping an eye on the TV that was broadcasting CNN worldwide. She cradled a phone on her shoulder as she did so.

"What do you mean, you can't get in touch with anyone in our Beirut office? I don't care, there should be someone there. What? No, that doesn't concern us." Lilah frowned at the response she got. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. Otherwise, I might be watching it for you on my desk."

The threat had the desired effect. "Good, don't let it happen again, and call me when you find someone." She hung up the phone with some force. "You'd think the whole world was coming to an end!"

"No. In fact, this isn't even close."

Lilah looked up in surprise, she hadn't heard anyone come into her office. She blinked several times because sitting on the couch on the other side of her desk was Holland Manners.

"You're dead," she managed to get out.

"Well, of course I am. Otherwise I wouldn't look like this," was the older man's response. Holland bared his neck with the horrible bite marks, courtesy of Spike and Drusilla that night in his basement.

Lilah shook her head. { Standard perpetuity clause in his contract, of course. What's the matter with me? } "I'm sorry, Holland, I guess it's just been one of those days. Now, as far as I know we don't have much time, so tell me - why have the Senior Partners sent you back to this branch of the firm?"

Holland shook his head, and Lilah could have sworn that his jowls shook. "What makes you think the Senior Partners sent me here?" Lilah instantly got suspicious. "But enough about me, I'm here to talk about you."

Lilah took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. This was worrisome - and now that she thought about it, why wasn't Manners talking to Linwood instead of her? There was a chain of command around here, after all. "All right. What can I do for you, Holland?"

"Normally I'd say nothing, you're too low down on the food chain to merit my attention. However, you have made yourself into something of an expert on several individuals that threaten my plans."

"Xander Harris and his people?" was Lilah's cautious answer.

Manners nodded, only suddenly it wasn't Holland her ex-boss anymore; it was a young blonde woman. "You look kinda tense. Does me looking like this make ya feel any more comfortable?"

Lilah was up in an instant. "Whoever and whatever you are, the Senior Partners aren't going to stand for this-"

"Oh, please! Like I'm afraid of some ancient dog, a goat and a lameass deer? I'd say grow a pair, but that'd be totally wasted on you, huh?"

Ms. Morgan easily dismissed the insult, sitting down again as the blonde went on, "See, originally I thought I'd only be dealing with the Council and the Slayer. But now, there's all these other people running around. They follow Xander's lead, the big dummy. In the last few years, y'know, strange as but you've done the most to get under his skin. I tried it myself, but he proved kinda resistant to my charms. You've had a little more success. So I wanna know more."

Suddenly, Lilah knew what was in her office. She knew Xander's file inside out and back to front, and she recognized the female form currently standing in her office. "You're the First," the sharp-witted female attorney said.

The First Evil smiled using Buffy's body. "Yeah, so no need to bow down or grovel. Just tell me what I want to know."

Lilah shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the information you want is classified commercial property of Wolfram & Hart-"

"You think you can say no to me? You think your so-called Senior Partners can say no to me?" Buffy Summers was gone, morphed into the image of Glory or Glorificus, the late and unlamented hellgod. "Little girl, I was around long before they ever became lapdogs to the Old Ones. I was around long before *time itself* ever existed! There's a reason I'm the First; *all* evil is part of me. Which includes you and your bosses."

Glory/the First glared as she got up off the couch, "Now start talking, before my Bringers slice you into little pieces. Well, after my boy Caleb has his wicked way with you first, that is!"

 **Not far from Grozny, Chechnya. 8:47 AM September 12, 2001 local time, 11:47 PM September 11, 2001 EDT**

The Russian army sergeant ducked his head down as he heard the whine of mortar shells passing overhead. All around him, his squad did likewise.

After a few seconds, he heard the explosions and lifted his head up. He could see the dust clouds from the artillery shells impacting on the earth several hundred yards away.

"All right, you miserable sons of Armenian whores, get up! The cockroaches are waiting for us." Sensitivity training was not something the Russian armed forces required or desired in its soldiers. The grunts under the sergeant's command quickly got to their feet. Making their sergeant unhappy was something they knew better than to do, after all.

The soldiers started advancing down the road. They had barely advanced 50 yards before they came under fire. The Russian soldiers instantly scattered and took cover.

The sergeant started cussing using an impressive variety of swear words. Of course he also took cover, he had been a soldier long enough to know better than to take chances like that.

{This is going to take longer than expected, } he thought to himself cynically. "All of you, fall back! We can't stay here, move! Move!"

 **141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. 9:21 PM September 11, 2001 local time, 12:21 AM September 12, 2001 EDT**

The microwave's bell dinged politely, so Cordelia Chase walked over and took the mug out of the oven, steam rising from the tea within it.

She walked from the kitchenette of her Silverlake apartment into the living room. She then sat down on the couch and pulled her legs in underneath her. The TV came to life with another of the news programs that had been running all day.

The former Sunnydale girl leaned back and took a sip from the tea. { Whew, what a day. }

It had indeed been a long day. The Fang Gang had managed to avert that car bomb blowing up a lot of innocent people, and also Wolfram & Hart. "Oh well, can't have everything," Cordy muttered to herself, as she watched a news report about the aqueduct where the terrorists had blown themselves up.

"Oh, thank you, Dennis!" Cordy said to her spectral roommate as he brought her the remote control. Then she made a face, the seer/secretary had forgotten to buy new batteries for the darn thing *again*.

The night looked to be a quiet one, well - in the demon world anyway. The Fang Gang had called their sources and they all agreed that the things which went bump in the night, weren't going to do so tonight. Just about everyone, including vamps and demons, were too intrigued by the historical events that had happened today and the 'night life' was watching the news just as avidly as the human population.

Thus Angel had told everyone to take the night off, saying that blowing up that truck should be enough for them for one day. He just wanted a quiet night in with Darla and Connor.

Cordy didn't know what the others were going to do, but she had decided she was going to go home and just veg. Somewhat tellingly though, she hadn't thought of contacting her boyfriend Chuck. It had been a stressful day, and Miss Chase wanted the alone time.

Well not completely alone, of course, Dennis was here. He had been what had turned on the TV. Cordy spoke up, "I don't suppose there's anything lighter on, is there?"

In response, the channels of the TV started changing. "Slow down, Dennis!" Cordy said. After a few seconds she spoke up again, "There! Go back to the singer. I want to hear some music."

Dennis quickly did so and the image of a young girl singing "Here With Me" appeared on the screen. Cordy smiled and leaned back, not knowing what tomorrow would bring for her.

 **Mogadishu, Somalia. 7:31 AM local time, 12:31 AM EDT**

The Toyota truck's wheels squealed as the vehicle tore around the corner, because the driver pressed down on both the brakes and accelerator at the same time. Normally he would know better, but then fear has a way of making you do things that you normally wouldn't do.

The driver swerved to avoid the truck in front of him. A soldier held onto the machine gun that had been mounted in its truck bed, desperately searching for something to aim at.

They had all been roused from a sound sleep a few hours before at the camp where they had been undergoing training. A normal morning would have involved exercises and lectures, being fully indoctrinated into the aims and means of the organization.

This morning was different though, as the instructors had shouted for them to wake up and started handing out assault rifles. The instructors were clearly scared; they had been on edge the night before, but now it was outright panic.

Then the explosions had started. They seemed to be taking place everywhere. Building after building had just exploded into component atoms. The truck driver had been lucky, he had been with several others at the perimeter of the camp and not gotten blown up.

They had started hearing gunfire from the camp at that point. An instructor had run up and led them to a group of trucks. The plan had been to drive into the city and lose themselves among the civilians. The instructor had said that the Americans would never risk killing civilians.

He had been wrong.

They had started out with five trucks. Now they were down to two. The others had been blown up by what looked like guided missiles of some sort. The last one had blown up three blocks ago, and the safety of the city environment was proving illusory so far.

At the end of the block, the truck turned again. The driver slammed down on the brakes as the truck in front had come to a complete halt. The driver suppressed a curse and leaned his head to the side to see why the other truck had stopped.

In front of it, about halfway down the street was a hovering jet. A few seconds later the wings of the jet lit up as a line of cannon shells marched down the street towards the truck.

The first truck blew up in a huge fireball. The driver of the second truck tried to shift into reverse and escape the deadly barrage.

He didn't make it in time.

Major Arthur "Dragonslayer" Hixon looked out from the Harrier jump jet cockpit at the two burning trucks. True, it hadn't been dragons he'd gotten to blow up on this mission - he still needed three more to be a dragonslaying ace - but he was still satisfied with his performance.

He lifted the jet up to head back to the terrorist camp. His unit might need air support.

 **Southern coast of the Caspian Sea, Islamic Republic of Iran. 10:05 AM local time, 1:35 AM EDT**

The ambulance struggled up the road leading to the top of the hill. Its siren blared out, and a soldier at the top of the road moved aside and waved it through.

The ambulance pulled up in front of a villa that had smoke pouring out from all the windows. Firefighters and soldiers milled around the scene. There were some wounded off to the side, which was where the ambulance stopped. The driver and attendant paramedic jumped out and quickly hurried over to the wounded.

The paramedic started tending to the nearest one. "What happened?" he asked as he started bandaging the wound.

"I don't know," the wounded guard rasped out. "I heard a huge roar, and then everything exploded. I was outside, so I didn't get hurt too bad. But the boss and his lieutenants in the villa didn't have a chance."

The medical attendant continued his work. "Who were they, anyway?"

The wounded guard's eye moved from side to side. "Ah, traders. They were staying here for a few days after doing some business in Afghanistan."

The paramedic nodded and didn't say anything. He knew the government let foreign jihadists use these villas dotted along the coast. And he knew better than to ask questions his government didn't want asked. He just kept doing his job.

 **USS Patrick Henry, off the coast of Iran. 10:26 AM local time, 2:26 AM EDT**

The ship's captain walked into the bridge from the communications center. He grabbed the microphone to the boat-wide intercom and keyed the button, sending a squeal throughout the entire ship.

"Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. I thought you might want to know that I just got the battle damage assessments for our Tomahawks this morning. The first batch we sent went to northern Iran to hit some cottages and offices. This group al-Qaeda, the one who blew up Disney World, they were using 'em as a place for a little R&R. Well, they're not going be doing that there anymore."

He smiled as he heard cheering from throughout the ship. "Command is very satisfied with our work. Good job, people, keep it up. Because we've still got more work to do. That's all for now." He put down the microphone and turned to the executive officer.

"We're getting some new targeting data for follow-up sites. Start punching it into the computers for the next rounds of strikes." The executive officer nodded and went to the communication center to start the process.

 **Great Russell Street, London, England. 8:40 AM local time, 3:40 AM EDT**

Roger Wyndham-Pryce stirred his tea as he sat at his desk within the Watchers Council headquarters. His schedule hadn't been disrupted by the worldwide events of the last day or so; in fact, he'd been able to relax slightly as it seemed the denizens of the paranormal world were all mostly staying home to watch the news. It gave him time to get caught up on some things.

"Very well," he said, putting down the cup. "Now, has anything happened that I need to know about since our last meeting?"

The aide called Nigel standing in front of the desk answered, "Nothing since Mr. Zabuto contacted us about his Slayer Ms. Greene having a prophetic Slayer dream. The one she shared with Ms. Summers in California."

The head of the Watchers Council looked up. "Shared the dream, you say?"

The aide nodded. "Yes I know, sir, but it's true. I followed up with Mr. Zabuto personally and confirmed it for myself. Here is the report he sent us." Nigel held forward a sheaf of papers.

Wyndham-Pryce read through them silently. After a few minutes, he put the papers down on his desk. "Both Slayers dreamed about Mr. Harris in reference to the events of yesterday?" Roger said in a questioning tone.

"Yes, sir. If we had known what was coming, we could have made the proper assumptions quicker. But the Americans played this one close to their vests," was the response of the aide.

"Yes, yes, their fetish for secrecy. Well, we can keep secrets as well," Roger said.

"Sir?" Nigel was confused.

"For now, the knowledge of the dream is something we keep to ourselves until we know the full implications of it."

"Er, I'm not sure that's entirely possible sir. After all, we can't tell Mr. Giles and Ms. Summers what to do, they aren't exactly members of the organization any longer," Nigel felt he had to point out.

Roger snorted, "Even so. I hardly think they're going to call up the colonial government and tell them everything they know, do you?"

 **Kandahar International Airport, Kandahar, Afghanistan. 1:35 PM local time, 5:05 AM EDT**

The colonel with a patch bearing a screaming eagle on his shoulder walked across the tarmac towards the terminal. All around him, American soldiers hurried back and forth.

The colonel looked around and noticed that several of the arched windows of the terminal had been blown out during the attack. He was actually surprised that more of the glass hadn't been blown out.

Neither side had been afraid to use large amounts of firepower.

He checked his watch and smiled. Everything was still on schedule. His troops had secured the airfield. The roar of airplane engines up above told him that the reinforcements were landing, before too long they would be able to advance into the city.

{They may have gotten the first shot in, but that's the only one they're going to get in.} the colonel thought with grim satisfaction as he watched the first transport plane land.

 **Kashmir Province, India. 3:40 PM local time, 6:10 AM EDT**

The truck drove along the road behind a line of artillery pieces. The Indian Army private tried not to think about his cargo too much, as he really did not want to see what it could do close up.

The truck pulled in an earthen dugout. As soon as the driver shut off the engine, soldiers swarmed the truck and started unloading the artillery shells.

The driver got out of the vehicle. "Be careful with those things!" he shouted out of habit more than anything else, as the soldiers gingerly lifted the shells out of the cargo bed of the truck. They moved the artillery the short distance to the box next to the howitzer that was sitting silent.

Several hundred yards away, another howitzer barked as it fired its deadly progeny. The boom and shock caused the soldiers to pause for a second. The driver stood next to the crew chief.

"This is the fourth time I've had to bring a load over here. You guys are really giving it to the terrorists in the hills," the driver remarked to his companion.

"They're giving it right back, we're getting a lot of calls for support from the troops in the hills. Lots of ambulances have gone by as well," the crew chief replied. "You'll be coming and going at least two or three more times before the day is over."

 **Number 10 Downing Street, London, England. 12:20 PM local time, 7:20 AM EDT**

"The American response has been extremely wide-ranging," the high-ranking military officer said to the PM and his assembled Cabinet ministers, as they all sat in the briefing room. "As we expected, Afghanistan with its al-Qaeda sanctuaries has received substantial American military attention. Air strikes were followed up by landing of ground troops. Kandahar fell to elements of the 101st Airmobile Division and the U.S. Marines. This was a major stronghold for the Taliban, and it appears to have thrown their command structure into chaos."

The British general clicked the remote control device, and the screen behind him changed to show a map of Afghanistan.

"The Northern Alliance and other anti-Taliban factions started offensive operations when the scale of the American operation became clear to them. The forces under Ahmad Shah Massoud are coordinating their operations with the Americans, which is hardly surprising. They've had Special Forces officers and CIA agents embedded within his ranks for quite a while, after all."

"And elsewhere?" Tony Blair asked.

"Air strikes on al-Qaeda camps in northern Iraq. Air strikes on terrorist command and control facilities in Iran, Lebanon and Syria. Commandos have deployed in Somalia and West Africa, attacking terrorist training camps. All highly coordinated," was the answer.

"The Americans playing cowboy again," muttered one of the men sitting at the table.

"Perhaps, but the cavalry clearly ambushed the Indians this time instead of the other way around," Alec Cummings said from his spot near the general. The minister who had made the cowboy comment turn an interesting shade of red, realizing his comment was louder than he had intended.

Cummings continued, "That said, it is clear that the Americans are taking advantage of the opportunity presented to them. Several of the targets are not directly related to al-Qaeda. Reports are that several installations connected to the Iranian nuclear program were targeted as well. Also, the Americans are not limiting themselves to just using military forces."

"Meaning?" the Foreign Secretary asked.

"Their domestic law enforcement agencies are arresting and detaining terrorist subjects all across the country and the tax authorities have been freezing accounts related to terrorist organizations," Cummings answered.

"And the Americans were able to do all this, based on the information from that...person...you told us about a couple of days ago," Blair commented.

"Yes, Prime Minister."

Tony Blair shook his head, and wondered if he should consider retiring and letting Gordon Brown deal with such things after all. {We live in a bloody strange world these days.}

 **Los Angeles, California. 5:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT**

Ametila walked into her kitchen. Her boyfriend Michael "Red" Byrne was there, already making breakfast. He looked up as the female demon came through the door.

"Morning Am, I was hoping to surprise you with breakfast in bed," he said as his green-skinned girlfriend came up from behind and hugged him.

"I woke up and you weren't there. Shouldn't you be asleep? You had a big day yesterday, and last night had to be tiring for you," Ametila said with a smile.

"Well, my line of work calls for endurance," Red replied with a straight face.

Ametila smiled slyly. "Endurance is a quality you possess in abundance, Mike."

Red smiled at the comment by the demoness. "Honey, you are also well supplied in that area." He kissed her.

When they broke off from the kiss, they were both smiling. "Here, let me help you," Ametila said as she walked over to the table when Red had a tray sitting.

"No, wait! Let me do that," Red said suddenly.

But it was too late, as Ametila frowned. "What's this?" She picked up a small black box that was next to the plate on the tray. Red hurried over to where she was standing.

"Damn, I was hoping to surprise you," Red started to explain as his girlfriend opened the box. Her eyes grew wide and a small gasp came out of her mouth.

The Caritas waitress then looked from the diamond ring up at her boyfriend as he swallowed. "See, I wanted to wake up and ask you…oh hell, never mind." He quickly got down on one knee. "Honey, will you marry me?"

 **Kabul, Afghanistan. 5:25 PM local time, 8:55 AM EDT**

The merchant hurried down the street. It had not been a good day for business in the marketplace. He had been woken up by the sounds of explosions and gunfire from the city prison. Later, he had been setting up his stall when the prison had been blown up.

The rest of the day had been filled with reports of fighting and bombing. There had been explosions across the city, people had said it was the airport or government buildings being attacked.

Taliban soldiers had been on the streets in force, acting with a combination of swagger and fear. The merchant made a point of avoiding them as much as he could. The whole day, the radio had been talking of jihad against the American infidels, growing increasingly shrill as the day went on.

He had closed the stall early today, as had some other merchants. He was now hurrying back to his home, following the merchant from the adjacent stall who lived in the same neighborhood he did.

Suddenly, there was a roar which made the two of them look up. Above them a plane with stars on its wings flew above their heads.

It flew towards a small hill above Kabul which had a small television transmitter on it. The transmitter had been there for as long as the merchant could remember. When the Russians had occupied Afghanistan they had used the tower for target practice, but they had never managed to knock it down though. Since the war, the Northern Alliance had tried a few times, but the tower had survived that also.

Something dropped from the plane as it twisted to the right and shot upwards. The bomb fell for a few seconds and then straightened out. It fell true to its target and blew up at the base of the tower.

The tower collapsed in a cloud of dust and flames.

The first merchant looked at his neighbor. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.

"I think the Americans are coming."

 **Richmond, Virginia. 9:12 AM local time, 9:12 AM EDT**

Xander staggered into the kitchen of the townhouse, clutching his forehead. Oz and Fred looked up at him.

"Morning Xander," Fred said cheerfully. She was in a good mood now that all the excitement was over, and she had engaged in some girl talk with Samantha Finn before the woman had left to meet up with her husband Riley.

Harris just grunted incoherently in response, his head throbbing from last night's drinking binge at the bar. He opened the refrigerator door.

"Cleburne said for you to drink the red juice on the bottom shelf," Oz said calmly, as he cut his pancakes into bite-sized pieces. "Said you'd need it if you got up before tomorrow."

Xander reached for the aforementioned glass and took a hesitant sip. He remembered what a certain hangover cure had tasted like, that day he'd first met Dr. Reynolds. After a few seconds with no adverse reaction, he took another, longer gulp. He snorted a little bit, "Did the old man say what this was?"

"Not really, mentioned something about tomato juice and a secret ingredient. A good cure for a hangover," Oz answered.

Xander was taking a third gulp, clearly it was helping greatly with the hangover. "Did he happen to mention why this is the first time I've heard of this?"

Oz shrugged. "He said you weren't a Marine officer before, called it a Marine Corps secret."

"Hey, did you enlist and not tell us?" Fred brightened up. "Oooh, did you get a dress uniform, that one with the sword?"

Xander shook his head. "No, Fred, he didn't mention anything about a tailor or a sword last night. 'Course with all the booze flowing, I might have missed it."

"Oh, well, it's just I remember mom talking about when dad came home from the Navy. She met him at the bus stop and she said her heart just about leaped out of her chest when she saw him getting off the bus in his uniform, said it was one of the happiest moments in her life," Fred said happily.

Oz didn't look up from his pancakes. "Cleburne also said something about how there were some things to do that he would get to, later on today."

"He has more surprises in mind. Well, color me stunned," Xander said in exasperation.

"Oh, speaking of surprises!" Fred smiled and jumped up from her seat. "Wait here." She hurried out of the kitchen.

"Hmmm. She's cheerful this morning," Xander said as he got a plate of pancakes himself and sat down at the table.

"After-effects of yesterday's excitement. It was kinda nerve-wracking waiting to see what was going to happen," Oz explained.

"Well, we already knew what was going to happen-" Xander started.

"No, we knew what was *supposed* to happen. We knew what would have happened in the world that you remember, not how things would turn out in this reality. Fred and I were worried about what would happen to you, Xander. When you change history, sometimes you don't know where things are gonna end up," Oz said.

Xander blinked. For Oz, that was a pretty long monologue. "Wow, that was...deep."

"I'm deep," Oz said. "Remember-"

But whatever Oz was going to remind Xander about was interrupted by Fred returning. "Here it is!" she said with an air of pride. She held forward a rifle of some kind.

"What is it?" Xander asked, looking at the weapon.

"Well, you know that a big concern of Colonel Cleburne is the fact the vampires sometimes require more than one shot to kill them, well - make them more dead than they already are," Fred clarified her earlier statement. "So I got to thinking, the principle of the bullets that the Siberians use is to try and start a fire when it encounters vampire skin. Now, that works for them because they can group their shots so that the bullets combine enough to start a fire which consumes the target."

Xander nodded. "I've been around for the old man's 'one shot one kill' tirade. You know he has memos on the subject, volumes of them. One time, Cleburne actually got out videos of the tests they've been doing."

"We've all seen them," Oz commented.

"He brings them out every chance he gets. It's kinda like a movie night with him," Fred said. "Anyway, I thought I would see what I could do to help out, so I started fiddling around with this."

Fred smiled at the rifle in her hand and continued. "I wondered if there was a way to cause a vampire's skin to heat up and combust without using projectiles. So I got to thinking if we could project a sphere of heat, a fireball if you will? If the fireball hits a vampire, well, the vampire would go up in flames at once."

"Right," Xander nodded, following her logic so far.

"Now, I came up with the idea of a sphere of extremely hot air since a normal fireball won't work, well, unless maybe if we had a fireball spell or something that we could use. You know, like one of those things from Dungeons and Dragons. You could look for a spell book that-"

"You were saying about the rifle?" Xander said, interrupting Fred's Willow-like rambling.

"Oh yeah, right. Well, I had a look at the plans that the Initiative people had developed for their blasters. Then I dug up one of the old prototypes, and Irving and I tinkered with it a bit. But then I had my new idea; and basically I amped up the power so that it delivers a blast of super-heated air for a few seconds, kinda of like an invisible fireball."

"Wow, Fred, that's great. So how far along are you with this thing?" Xander was impressed, and looking forward to trying the new weapon out.

"Well, I've got the hot air coming out fine," Fred stated. "The main problem so far is that its range just isn't right, unfortunately."

"So does it actually work?" Oz said, looking up from his pancakes.

"Uh, I've not had a chance yet to really field test it. However, when I ran the computations, the distance covered by the blast of air before it lost cohesion was in the range of hundreds of yards. I don't know if we want invisible fireballs flying around for the length of several football fields."

"Well, if we ever come up against a vampire version of the Washington Redskins, at least we'll be prepared," Xander joked.

Fred smiled and suppressed a laugh. "Or the Dallas Cowboys." She shifted the rifle and when she did so, it coughed and the air rippled above the muzzle. "Oh, no!"

There was a crackling sound, and steaming hot plaster fell from the ceiling onto the kitchen table. "Yeah, uh, another problem is the strength of the hot air," Fred said sheepishly.

All three of the Siberian 'exiles' looked up at the softball-sized hole in the ceiling. After a few seconds, the phone started ringing. Oz leaned back and picked up the receiver from the kitchen counter. He listened for a few seconds, and then held it out towards Xander.

"It's Cleburne. He wants to talk about what just came up through his floor, and went all the way up through the roof of the building."

 **Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. 6:21 AM local time, 9:21 AM EDT**

Rupert Giles walked to the front door of his condo, and opened it in response to the loud and determined knocking. He made a bet with himself as to who would be there at this time of day, and as expected he won the wager.

Buffy Summers stood there, wearing a stylish jacket and having a look of sheer determination on her face.

"It's been long enough, Giles, I want to go to Los Angeles right now."

 **White House, Washington D.C. 10:01 AM local time, 10:01 AM EDT**

Richard Clarke made a note on the written memorandum he was finishing up. Yesterday had been busy. The job of saving the world didn't end at five o'clock, and he had the paperwork to prove it.

He put the memo in his out basket. The man then reached over, pulled another memo in front of him and read the title.

"Connecting al-Qaeda to the Saddam Hussein regime," Clarke muttered to himself as he leaned back. "I wonder in whose office *this* memo originated."

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 10:38 AM local time, 10:38 AM EDT**

Esther Marcum walked down the hallway and saw the door to the conference room opened. She slowed down and looked in.

There at the table sat the child genius Irving Hollins, surrounded by stacks of papers with a laptop in front of him. She walked in and looked over his shoulder. He was scrolling down the images on the screen.

"I thought you would have taken a little time off after yesterday's excitement," the woman observed.

Hollins shook his head. "No, the various law enforcement and intelligence services have been forwarding copies of everything they seized yesterday. I'm looking for materials that are time-sensitive."

"Any success?"

"Nothing so far that demands our immediate attention, although there are some plans and ideas in the initial stages. However, I have found something rather interesting floating around on the Internet."

"Interesting how? Is it something the intel boys picked up on the jihadist websites?"

Hollins typed a little on the keyboard and pulled up a picture on the laptop. He then leaned back so Esther could see the screen.

She read the top of the screen. "Opening Soon - Disney Afghanistan" it said in bright orange letters. Below the title was a picture of Mickey Mouse, dressed as Rambo blasting away with an assault rifle.

Esther suppressed a laugh. "Where did this come from? Cleburne?"

Hollins shook his head. "No, I've not heard from the good colonel this morning. This is from Florida, at best as I can trace it."

They were silent for a few seconds, and then Hollins closed the picture and opened up a new file. "I hope to put together a full post-op report within the next few days. I'm also hoping for our forces in Afghanistan to capture more materials over the next couple of weeks."

Esther frowned. "You know, you could take a little time off."

Hollins didn't look up from the screen. "I could."

"All right, let's forget about subtlety. You are taking some time off." Esther said as she closed the laptop in front of him. "Go outside and play some tennis. Ask Bethany, she probably wouldn't mind joining you. She's back now, you know."

The trace of a smile appeared on the 13-year-old boy's face. "Well, I suppose a couple of hours playing tennis wouldn't hurt."

 **Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 10:47 AM local time, 10:47 AM EDT**

Senator Helen Brucker looked formidable sitting behind her desk. Before her sat several of her more trusted staffers; most of them looked human, 'looked' being the key thing to their appearance, while some of them did not.

"We still don't know much about how they really knew about the hijackings ahead of time. Of course, there is that story they've told the media," her chief of staff was saying.

"Oh yes, that. Who knew the White House could tell fairy tales so well," Brucker said. She was rewarded by dutiful laughter from the assembled aides.

"A mole, it has to be," one aide said. "The CIA must have finally managed to put someone inside of al-Qaeda."

"What, is that a joke? You must know a very different CIA than I do!" The chief of staff looked at all the aides. "There is some reason that they were able to pull it off yesterday the way they did. We need to learn how and how we can use it to our advantage."

"They're guarding whatever they have closely. It'll be hard getting it," one of the aides said.

Brucker fixed the offending aide with a piercing stare. "I do not want to hear your excuses and neither does Bathory. We want to know what's going on. Find out or I get a group of new aides, and you will not like my severance package." She looked over all her aides. "Now get out of here and get to work."

 **Richmond, Virginia. 11:15 AM local time, 11:15 AM EDT**

Cleburne muttered to himself in angry frustration, as he stood up from patching the damage in his floor. He was already dreading having to get estimates for the repairs to the roof.

Of course, it was something he had done quite a few times before.

His attention was distracted by the ringing of the phone. He picked it up once he saw who it was from the caller ID. "Hello, Dad."

"Morning, son," Daniel Cleburne said from his farm in South Carolina. "Didn't expect to find you at home, but your office said I should try you there."

"Yeah, just getting caught up on some stuff here, I had some emergency house repairs to take care of." Cleburne looked at the patch he'd just installed and sighed.

"Saw you and your friend on TV yesterday morning," Daniel said.

Cleburne was silent for a few seconds. "Lots of things were on television yesterday, Dad, and lots of people too. Thing is, different people often look alike when you see 'em on the idiot box."

Now it was Daniel Cleburne's turn to be silent for a few moments. Over the years, his prodigal son had explained that there were some things he simply couldn't talk about related to his job, and the old man knew better than to push the issue now that Joshua had given him the hint. "I suppose so. Still, whoever that was your mother and I saw you with yesterday, his parents must be proud."

Cleburne smiled for a second. "I imagine that pleases whoever it was, of course, I would hate for any wild rumors to get started."

Daniel chuckled. "Don't worry, son, you know how tight-lipped rural folk are down here. By the way, your mother wanted me to remind you about Thanksgiving."

Cleburne frowned. "Thanksgiving? I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, she said to say you're coming home for Thanksgiving dinner and bring your friends with you."

"Friends?"

"Yeah, you know, the ones who spent Christmas with us. Bring all of them along."

"I don't know if I or they can make it, Dad, their schedules may already be set," Cleburne said with a shrug.

"Nonsense, we're still two months out, plenty of time to make plans. Your mother wants you and them here, and that's that."

"Okay, I'll tell 'em Dad. Odds are not everyone's gonna come, some of them will want to go home to their families; but I'll let them know that everyone who can come is welcome to do so."

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 8:37 AM local time, 11:37 AM EDT**

Angel had no idea how his whole world was about to be turned upside down, as he turned the page of the book.

The thing was he appreciated the quiet moments whenever he could get them, and was using this free time to get in some light reading. The vampire was rereading "The Count of Monte Cristo" and he was about halfway through the book, occasionally reminiscing about what life had been like all those centuries ago.

Angel knew that Gunn and Wes were somewhere in the hotel, as he had heard them talking in the lobby a few minutes ago. Darla was upstairs, she had muttered something about morning sickness and been in her room ever since. Gwen wasn't back from whatever errand she was running for the government, and Cordelia was due in later in the morning. So for now, he was able to enjoy the quiet.

Angel suddenly heard Gunn talking to someone, even if he was too engrossed in the book to make out the words. After a few seconds he heard Wes say something too in a surprised tone, again being unable to make out what was exactly said. His curiosity piqued, Angel stood up and started to walk towards the door.

The door swung open with great force. "Buffy, what are you doing here?" Angel said in surprise as he took a step towards her.

Then he noticed something odd; she did not look happy to see him. In fact she looked very much like a half-mad tribal chieftain Angel had met decades ago, as the expression on her face was one of fury and anger. Buffy took a few steps into the office and once he was within range, she punched Angel in the face - hard.

"You bastard!" the Chosen One shouted angrily as he fell back against the desk.

"Buffy!" Angel yelped out.

"Buffy!" Giles said as well, as he followed her into the office. Behind him were Willow and Tara.

"Angel, are you alright?" Wesley asked, as he hurried by Giles into the office to help his undead boss up. Right behind him, Gunn rushed into the office and got in front of Buffy.

Charles held out his right arm out and pointed at the Slayer. "Okay, chill. I dunno what your problem is, blondie, but you gotta back off - right now."

"Get out of my way," Buffy didn't even look at him, continuing to stare murderously at her ex.

"Buffy..." Giles moved forward.

"He lied to me, Giles, he knew all this time!"

"I know, Buffy, but what exactly will punching Angel repeatedly accomplish?"

Buffy's face scrunched up a little. "Well, it'll make me feel a bit better for one!" She turned back from Giles and stared at her ex-boyfriend, who had scrambled to his feet by now.

Angel pushed Wes away. "Buffy, what's wrong - why are you acting like this?" the vampire asked in confusion as he straightened up.

"All this time, you knew. YOU KNEW HE WAS STILL ALIVE! You knew, but you didn't think we needed to know? How could you *do* something like that to me?!" Buffy screamed.

{Oh crap. They know about Xander! But how?} For a brief second Angel considered denying it, but he knew better than to try. He also respected Buffy and the others too much to keep up appearances now that the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

"In a nutshell, I had to. You couldn't know he was still alive back then," Angel confessed at last.

"And you decided that?" Willow asked from the doorway.

"No. He did," Angel replied simply.

Gunn looked around confused. "Yo, white folks. Who are we talkin' about?"

"Army Guy," Angel said, using the name that Gunn had known Xander by back then.

Buffy glanced at Gunn and then back to Angel. "He knows?!"

Gunn answered before Angel could. "Yeah, I know Harris. Soldier boy saved my ass more than once back in the day. And the asses of my crew as well."

"Right, see - after Xander escaped from that hell dimension, before he came back to Sunnydale? He, um, he helped out Gunn and his people with their vampire problems," Angel explained.

"That was before the high school blew up," Buffy said flatly. All eyes in the office turned to Gunn. "Before we thought Xander was dead."

"Hey, Harris isn't dead! Okay, Army Guy got himself kidnapped by some dudes from England, but me and my little sis went to the old South to help him out," Gunn said, with a slight grimace at the memory. "He went and disappeared after that, but the man wasn't killed back then, basically thanks to Deadboy here."

All eyes then turned to Angel. "Who gave you the tip?" Giles asked, feeling somewhat shocked at hearing that old high school nickname. Just like Buffy and Willow.

"Yeah, and what dudes from England?" Buffy said, looking more confused than bloodthirsty now.

Angel put aside the annoyance factor and said, "The Oracles sent me to Gunn and his friends..." He then went on to explain who and what the Oracles had been. "Bottom line, they were pretty clear on the fact that I couldn't leave Los Angeles then. So Gunn and his crew had to do so for me." Angel looked at Gunn. "Go ahead, fill them in."

"Me, Alonna and Bobby, we went to good ol' boy country. We set some stuff on fire, and then there was a fight at some airport. Some things got blown up, and a truck got crashed. After we pulled him outta the vehicle, Army Guy got away clean," Gunn summarized the story.

"What happened to him, exactly?" Willow asked softly. Tara placed her hand on Willow's shoulder to reassure her girlfriend.

"Well, Harris got banged up pretty bad, but he got away from the Masterpiece Theater wannabes who kidnapped him. Last I saw, he was back with the MIB types he'd hooked up with, said something was going on involving the First Evil," Gunn said.

"He went back to those people willingly?" Buffy asked, ignoring that part regarding the First Evil for now.

"Yeah, surprised us too, whatever this First Evil thing was musta really freaked him out."

"And you just let him go?" Buffy was not completely satisfied with Gunn's answer.

"Didn't go down like that, Barbie. And in case you didn't notice, I already told you how Army Guy made his own decision," Gunn growled at her.

"And what happened to the kidnappers?" Giles asked, trying to keep the peace. He was worried about who they were.

Angel decided to change the subject. "Never mind that right now, it's pretty much ancient history - look, why now? Why did you guys show up today, and how did you learn the truth?"

Giles spoke up. "Well, we just found out yesterday that Xander was still alive-"

"How?" That was Wesley.

Buffy and the others exchanged glances. "Show them," Buffy said.

"Do you have a VCR handy?" Willow asked.

"Upstairs in one of the rooms," Wes answered. "I'll go get it."

A few minutes later the VCR was set up in the hotel's lobby, attached to the television set. Willow put the VHS tape into the machine and pressed Play.

"I got this yesterday off the Today show, they were talking about the attacks," the redhead said as she fast forwarded the tape. "Here we go." She let the tape play in real time.

"Hey, everyone, good morning!" The front door to the hotel lobby opened up and Cordelia walked in. She saw Buffy and the Scoobies and said, "Whoa, what brings all you people to civilization? And what's that on the tube?"

A look of deep anxiety instantly crossed Angel's face. "Cordy, could you possibly get something for me from my office?" he asked hurriedly, getting in her way.

The blonde Slayer instantly got it. "She doesn't know," Buffy said. { Well, gee, why am I *not* surprised? }

"Know what?" Cordelia then saw what was happening on the screen, after pushing Angel aside in annoyance. "That's Xander," she said in shock. She looked at the others in the room. "When was this taken?"

"Yesterday, I saw it and I-I knew I had to record it," Willow answered rather timidly. By this point, she too had figured out that the former cheerleader hadn't known the truth.

Cordy watched for a few seconds. "That's Xander." A look of confusion crossed her face. "But if that was yesterday, that means..."

"Xander's alive," Buffy finished.

"Xander's alive?" Cordelia continued staring at the TV screen, her mind going blank at the concept. It was almost too much to take in, kind of like learning how the Chase family fortune had evaporated and she had to figure out how to live poor in order to survive.

And then suddenly, Miss Chase had a series of memories of her former boyfriend.

{OH MY GOD! XANDER'S ALIVE! } the young woman's mind finally shrieked with a combination of ecstasy and disbelief. "So, so, you guys came to tell us the good news?" Cordelia finally pulled herself together, as Buffy and the others exchanged looks. "You mean you didn't?"

Angel mentally prepared himself for what he knew was about to come. "No, uh, they came because they figured out I knew that Xander was alive."

Cordelia's head turned sharply to look at Angel. "What? You knew?"

Angel nodded, he understood how the time for secrecy was over. "Yeah, I helped him fake his death back then."

It took a few moments for her to process that one. But then Cordy took two steps towards Angel and slapped him, hard. Then she wound up and hit him again, just for good measure.

"Cordy!"

"You lied to me, you've been lying all this time! YOU ASSHOLE! We've been working together for two years, and you lied to me about *this*?!" Cordelia screamed in his face.

Angel stepped back and rubbed his cheek. "Um, yeah, I guess. Sorry. Okay, can everyone stop hitting me now?"

"Sorry? Sorry ain't gonna cut it, you bloodsucking jerk! And I'll let you know if and when that time comes," Cordy snarled at him. She noticed that Wes and Gunn seemed to be trying to subtly move away from her. "Wait a minute. Did you two know as well?"

"Yeah. Way I heard it, everyone around here knew 'cept you," Gunn said apologetically.

Angel said hurriedly in response to the lethal look on Cordelia's face, "Gunn met Xander back when he had only the soldier memories, and Wes figured it out just a short while ago. I told them both not to tell you."

That earned Angel another slap to his face. "Still not that time yet," the former Queen C growled in response to the look from her boss. "Alright, I'll bite. What in God's name made your tiny little undead mind think it was a good idea to keep the fact *Xander* was alive a secret from me?"

Angel pseudo-sighed, he'd been hoping it wouldn't come to this. "I'm sorry, Cordy, but I had to. Xander wanted it kept secret. At the time he was still kinda pissed at you, Buffy and Willow, but ever since then...well, he's gotten worried about what would happen if you all found out."

Buffy crossed her arms, trying to ignore the hurt from Angel's statement. "That's not gonna work. Xander had no reason to be scared of us!"

Angel shook his head. "No, he was never scared of you, well - there was that whole headache thing to deal with, but I'm sure that's not important to him. He got scared *for* you, Buffy. Because of what they might do."

"They? Who's 'they'?" Willow looked confused.

Giles was cleaning his glasses. "Perhaps if you started at the beginning, when Xander faked his death at Graduation."

Angel nodded. "Okay, let's sit down, this might take awhile."

Everyone sat and Angel told the assembled listeners of how Xander had been sure that the longer he stayed in Sunnydale, the more chance there was of a Watchers wet works team trying to capture him for 'study'. So he'd decided to fake his own death while the Mayor ascended and then disappear out of town.

"And then what?" Willow asked.

"Well, originally Xander planned to go live in Canada, somewhere in the mountains. Hide in a cave or a cabin or whatever till it was safe to come out," Angel said. "The main thing was throwing off any pursuers."

"Okay, the part about faking his death certainly worked as far as we were concerned. So did the secret agent types help with that?" Buffy spoke up.

Angel shook his head. "No, someone in their brain trust figured out later that Xander was still alive. Then that super-secret government agency caught up with him and took him into protective custody."

"So he *is* a prisoner!" Buffy almost yelled.

Angel thought for a second. "No...no. I think at first he was something less than a prisoner, and more than a guest; I mean, he wasn't locked up, but he wasn't free to just wander around either. But later on, things changed - it seems he sorta became one of them, Buffy. And a lot more mobile."

"Mr. Gunn mentioned something before about kidnappers from England?" Giles said. In his gut he knew the answer already, but he had to ask it out loud.

"Who do you think?" Angel asked with a sideways look.

"I was rather hoping it would be someone else," Giles said in a sad tone. "Dear Lord, but how far the Council has truly fallen..."

"Giles, c'mon! You aren't responsible for them. So do *not* blame yourself for that part of it," Buffy said firmly.

"Indeed. If anyone's to blame, it's myself. The Watchers Council only knew about Xander because of my reports back then," Wesley said sadly. "Looking back on it, I certainly have cause to regret my actions at the time..."

"Don't worry about it, Wes, we've all done things in the past that we regret." Angel then continued the story, "Anyway, the Oracles had me meet up with Gunn here to help Xander. And like he himself said a few minutes ago, the three of them helped him escape from the Watchers. Xander then went back to the government's protective custody."

"And since then?" Buffy said.

Angel paused for a few seconds. "Uh, I've heard from him a few times, indirectly." He decided not to mention details regarding that meeting with Cleburne and Gwen. "That's how I know he's not a prisoner, more like an agent of theirs."

"Indirectly, how?" Willow spoke up from in front of the TV where she was retrieving the videotape.

"Various ways," Angel answered vaguely.

Buffy frowned and crossed her arms. "Cut the cryptic act, Angel, it doesn't impress me anymore. Now tell me, how do we get in touch with him? 'Cause it sounds like you can do it any time you want!"

"No, I can't. And before you ask, I don't know where he is right now," Angel said. "The people he's with, they know enough about my curse not to want to trust me with that information."

"He wrote to you, didn't he? I mean it stands to reason, he wrote those three letters to Giles. That's how you guys keep in touch, right? So do you have a way to write back?" Willow asked hopefully.

Angel thought for a second to deny it, but the look on Willow's face made the decision for him. He shook his head. "No. It's a one-way delivery system, he's sent a letter once or twice via a...a third party."

"And they can't forward a letter to him?" Giles asked this question.

"Well, I don't absolutely know for sure, but I really doubt it. They're...different," Angel explained uncomfortably. "Definitely not part of the government crowd."

"Who?" Cordy demanded in no uncertain terms.

"The Furies," Angel replied unhappily.

"Oh, yeah, the trollop trio is definitely not your average post office," Cordy muttered. She knew of the sisters from the various occasions Angel had sought out their help, and hearing them chorus 'Mmmm, Angel' that way had not exactly endeared them to her heart. Due to the fear that one day, they would unleash Angelus in all his glory.

Willow walked back to the others with the videotape in her hand. "What exactly did Xander's letter say?"

"That his plan didn't work," Angel started to explain. "When he left LA before Cordelia arrived, he headed north for the border. It was after that the spies caught up with him." Angel winced at his seer's expression and left unsaid that there was another letter relayed via the Host, he didn't want to talk about that until he had a chance to talk to Cordelia in private.

"I see," Giles commented. "So what exactly do you know about them?"

"Well, not much. I do know that those people don't exactly like to publicize themselves. But apart from that - Giles, I don't even know the name of their organization," Angel answered. "Basically they got their hands on Xander, and eventually he signed up with them of his own free will."

"And you got all this from his letter?" Tara asked.

"Amongst other things," Angel answered.

"What other things?"

Angel paused at Willow's question. "There were some other indirect communications and, uh, I've heard some stuff over the years. I mean the Furies, they like him-" The instant he said that, Angel knew he had made a big mistake.

Indeed, as Cordelia immediately looked completely disgusted. "You're not actually serious, are you? You and Xander boff the same women now?! Make me yak, Angel!" Buffy and Willow looked rather sick at the concept as well.

"Cordelia..." Angel didn't want to go into this, and he didn't want to give up too much about Xander just yet either. He had hoped to be better prepared before having this conversation.

Buffy scowled over her crossed arms, doing her best to repress a...a *disturbing* mental image of an orgy involving her ex and her best male friend. "All right, Angel, 'fess up. Where are these government secret agent types? I figure if I whale on some of them hard enough, they'll tell me where Xander is."

Angel shook his head. "No, Buffy, that won't work. This isn't a problem you can solve simply by using violence."

"It's always worked for me before," Buffy said mulishly, briefly thinking about the Knights of Byzantium.

"Buffy, listen to me - this isn't something you can just slay your way out of!" Angel snapped. "You can't take on these people like that, I mean they might decide to just shoot you and be done with it - they're the U.S. government, and by this time they have to know who and what you are! Besides, there's something big going on. You heard Gunn, something about the First spooked Xander so much that he went straight back to his keepers when he had the chance to just ditch them and run for it. Whatever the problem really is, Xander obviously feels he needs their help to stop it."

Buffy kept her arms crossed. "We handle the end-of-the-world stuff all the time. It's what we do."

"Not this time. Don't you understand? Xander's effectively been at war with the First for longer than you've been a Slayer, what with all those future memories in his head," Angel said passionately. "The man knows what he's doing. You don't."

"The First...is the entity that tried to get you to commit suicide, nearly three years ago," Giles said slowly to Angel, doing his best to not to dwell on Buffy's hurt look.

Angel nodded. "Yeah, I know. Luckily it didn't work, the Powers intervened on my behalf or something. Look, from what I've learned the Big Bad's got a master plan, something big..."

"Okay. But, but have you heard how Xander is?" Willow asked, being more concerned about her friend than the creature wanting to bring about the end of the world.

Angel paused for a second. "He's in good health. At least, I don't have any reason to doubt that. I've heard some rumors about him..."

"There are rumors about him?" Willow looked up.

"Well, not about Xander Harris per se, the rumors are about his alias in the demon world. The Timetripper," Angel answered.

"Ah, yes. We, we've examined that website," Giles said, staring at the ensouled vampire. "We're not sure yet just how much is over-the-top hyperbole, but there does appear to be some factual basis to the stories there."

"You'd be surprised. I heard he's had some weird adventures over the last two years! However, he seems to be stronger for it. And I heard Xander put in a good word for us with his..." Angel searched for the proper word, "patrons."

"Did the President really have a meeting with aliens about Xander?" Tara suddenly asked.

Angel stared at her with a confused look on his face. "What? Aliens?" Nearby, Cordelia rolled her eyes in disdain.

"Yes, um, s-some of the stories there would, uh, would seem to be more at home in the _National Enquirer_. However when you said he put a good word with his patrons, what exactly did you mean?" Giles asked.

Angel looked at Gunn who answered, "Me and my crew get food and aid packages from 'em, tools and supplies to give us an edge against the bloods."

"Right. And they do that purely out of the goodness of their hearts, I bet," Buffy commented.

Gunn smirked. "Ain't no such thing as a free lunch, girl. When it started, they had us looking for some weird cult at this youth center-"

"New Hope Family Shelter!" Everyone turned and looked at Cordelia after her almost shouted comment.

"Yeah, that's the place - damn freaky too, way I recall it," Gunn said with a shrug.

"No, no, no!" Cordelia explained about the time that her friend Lily had asked for her help with the kids freed from that demon cult. "There was a moment that day when I was sure I saw Xander walking along with a bunch of FBI agents! I mean, later I convinced myself that I was mistaken, but now - I'm certain he was there, he must have been!"

"Those were FBI agents getting off the plane on the videotape. You could be right," Willow said in sheer wonder.

"All right, what's all the yelling and excitement about? Can't a woman get any sleep around here?"

Everyone in the hotel's lobby looked up to the top of the stairs. "Hey Darla..." Angel said before realization hit him. Unfortunately, Buffy and the Scoobies all had eyes and knew who the blonde vampiress was.

"She's pregnant," Buffy said in disbelief. { I knew she was still here after Will and Tara did their soul curse mojo, but now she's *pregnant*? }

"Oh dear Lord," Giles took off his glasses. He spluttered, "This, this is impossible!"

"Yeah, I-I-I thought vampires couldn't have children?" Tara asked.

Willow looked confused. "Darla, you're having a baby...? But, but the spell I did wasn't meant to do that! Did, did I really screw up that badly back then?" She looked at Giles for reassurance.

Giles was cleaning his glasses so hard the lenses almost fell off. "No, no, I-I looked over the spell myself, there was nothing that would lead one to even suspect this would happen..."

"And yet here I am, as is Junior. No, wait, his name's Connor actually," Darla said with a smirk as she descended down the staircase, holding her swollen belly. The mother-to-be locked eyes with the Slayer, and instantly Buffy knew the truth. She, Angel and Darla had quite the history together, after all.

Angel steeled himself and turned to face Buffy. She was staring at him now.

"You're the father," Miss Summers said in a horribly neutral tone of voice.

Feeling like a condemned soul about to enter the pits of Hell, Angel just nodded silently.

He actually saw the fist coming and managed to close his eyes before it impacted on his face, breaking his nose and sending quite a bit of his lukewarm blood spraying onto the floor.

The male vampire hit the ground hard, vaguely hearing Cordelia's voice barking in annoyance about how she wasn't going to be the one cleaning up the mess this time. When Angel eventually opened his eyes again, he saw Buffy and Darla looking down at him.

"Nice shot, although I thought he would fly back a lot further and hit the wall," Darla said, still smirking.

"I pulled my punch at the last moment," Buffy said as she continued to stare down at Angel. "Didn't want him out cold for the duration. So. Care to explain, either one of you?"

"Well, a man and woman sometimes...join together in that special way," Darla started, barely containing her laughter.

"Darla!" Angel said, shaking his head as he woozily stood up. "Buffy, Darla is carrying my son..."

"Yeah, figured out that part for myself," Buffy replied nastily, fighting a very real sense of betrayal. "So you lied to me way back when about how vamps couldn't have kids, huh?"

"No!" Wesley and Giles said together, before the Sunnydale ex-Watcher gestured to the LA one to go ahead. "Miss Summers - Buffy - it's true that under normal circumstances, no vampire can have children. But this is a, a special case..."

"Ancient prophecy, mystical pregnancy, blah-blah-blah; been there, done that. I mean I almost gave birth to seven baby demons myself a few years ago," Cordelia interrupted, ignoring the looks that earned her from the Sunnydale crowd. "Can we focus back on Xander, please?"

"Er, Cordelia, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking? You can't, it's impossible. Don't you remember what it was like for him in Sunnydale back then? You surely haven't forgotten the terrible headaches Mr. Harris always used to get, whenever you or anyone else he knew was around?" Wesley asked her impassionedly. "You know that he can't meet with you until 2003..."

"Unless Willow can somehow find a way to fix that spell she did, right?" Cordy shot back immediately, as the redhead in question started in surprise. "Look, Wes, I don't care what I have to do or how long it takes - now that I know he's still alive, I am going to do everything in my power to bring Xander Harris back into my life!"

There was a silence, as Angel and Darla abruptly turned their heads towards the front door. Upon following their glances, Miss Chase saw someone there that made her want to curl up and die.

Her boyfriend, Chuck: who, from the expression on his face, had no doubt just heard her say that.

The man turned and walked back out the door without a word. Cordelia instantly chased after him, "Chuck! Wait! Wait!"

The young woman raced down the hotel's garden path, and eventually caught up to the aerobics instructor. "Look, I can explain what you just heard-"

"You want to know what the really sad thing about all this is?" Chuck interrupted with a quiet, mournful tone. "How it's not exactly a surprise to hear you say that. I mean, deep down I always knew that I was playing second fiddle to that guy in your heart..."

"No, it's not like that! Look, if you'll just give me a chance to explain everything-" Cordelia said desperately.

"What's there to explain?" Chuck interrupted. "You've obviously made your choice, Cordelia. And that's all I need to know. The rest of it is just window dressing, which quite frankly I can do without."

"You..." Cordelia suddenly started to get angry. "So, is that it? We hit a rough spot, and you're giving up on 'us' just like that?"

"No, Cordelia, you are," Chuck said in that same quiet tone that the Chase woman finally figured out was concealed heartbreak. "Lemme put it like this - if I asked you to choose between me and him, once and for all, who would you pick?"

"Chuck, I..."

The man waited, but somehow Cordelia couldn't seem to find any words that wouldn't be either a lie or an evasion. So Chuck said, "I thought so. Look, Cordy, trust me; it's better for us this way. A clean break may be the best. And could you do me a favor? Don't come to my gym anymore, at least not for awhile. It would hurt too much to see you there right now," Chuck asked pointedly.

The tears began to stream down Cordelia's cheeks as she stammered, "Okay."

"I'll go collect my things from your place and leave the key on the table," Chuck added way too calmly. "Say my goodbyes to Dennis too, I guess." Before he walked off to his car he added, "Oh, and if you ever manage to get what you want from that Xander Harris guy, tell him from me - that he won himself one hell of a girl."

Her heart almost breaking in two Cordelia Chase cried alone within the hotel's garden, as Chuck drove off down Hyperion Boulevard.

 **Police headquarters, Chicago, Illinois. 11:10 AM local time, 12:10 PM EDT**

"Through her actions, Officer Patricia Garrett saved countless lives and avoided a major disaster here in our city..."

The rookie police officer in question shuffled her feet as the Commissioner of Police went on with his speech. Next to her was Garrett's partner, Officer Ted Ball. They were in the middle of a line of Federal, state and local law enforcement officials. The room in front of them was full of reporters and television cameras.

Carl and Joan Kolchak sat in the second row of chairs. Joan was taking notes while Carl just listened. "They're really putting on a show," he whispered to his daughter.

"Well, she and her partner prevented a lot of death and destruction," she whispered back. "You heard the Commissioner talk about how big a bomb those guys had in that painter van. This Officer Garret is a real live hero."

Carl smiled. "I like that, be sure to include it in the story you send out."

"I will, Dad. And I swear, the brass at Daley Plaza are totally eating this up. They love it, having something go right for Chicago's finest for a change."

Carl nodded, police scandals in Chicago - or police scandals in general - were a regular item that they wrote about at INS. "Also, they seem pleased with the fact that their hero had no help from the Feds on this one," Kolchak mused.

"There is that," Joan responded. "Whatever crystal ball the Feds used to spot the hijackings, it wasn't working here in the Windy City."

Carl Kolchak chuckled lightly. "The locals always like it when they put something over on the Feds. There might be a story in how they did it, maybe."

Joan didn't look up from her notebook. "I've got a couple of ideas about that." She looked up at Patricia Garrett, who was clearly uncomfortable at all the attention being paid to her. "Yeah. It's something I'll definitely have to look into."

 **Los Angeles, California. 10:35 AM local time, 1:35 PM EDT**

The police captain walked down into the Sixth Street viaduct towards the hub of activity, his tan raincoat looking out of place in the weather today. The center of the activity was a burnt-out van. Various technicians were examining it and disassembling the remains. Up above them on the street a large crowd had gathered, with several TV news crews also there.

The captain walked to a cluster of Federal and local law enforcement officers. "So, is it one of yours?" he asked the lead Federal agent.

The agent in question turned from the others towards the LAPD official. "Well, what we've seen so far does seem to indicate that. The type of van and quantity of the explosives match those used in the other cities. The VIN we recovered from the wreckage matches a van that was rented by two men of Middle Eastern descent. The names we got from the rental company are being traced for connections to terrorist groups. So all in all, I'd have to say yes to your question."

The captain looked around. "Right. Still, there are some things about this that just don't add up to me."

"Such as?"

"Well, why would the terrorists want to blow up a viaduct? There are a million other better targets in LA! And I heard the NBC guys say there was nothing special about the explosion, they just blew themselves up in a normal way."

One of the Federal agents shrugged. "Maybe they screwed up. Pulled in here to prime the explosives, crossed the wrong wire and got blown into little pieces."

It was obvious the cop didn't accept that fully. "Maybe. But what about the buses?"

"Some abandoned buses, you're surprised to see them here?" another of the FBI agents asked.

"Yeah, 'cause those abandoned buses are blocking entrances to the viaduct. The other entrances show signs of something blocking the blast too." The police captain played with the unlit cigar in his hand. "And another question, where did they go?"

"Some of the buses are still here," one of the other Federal agents observed.

The LAPD captain shook his head. "No, I meant the buses at the other entrances! My money says someone was here when the explosion occurred, but they left before we arrived."

"Why would they do that? I mean surely they'd stick around for us to arrive, wouldn't they?" the lead Federal agent said. "Assuming you're right and there were some concerned citizens here, trying to stop the terrorists."

"You'd think so, huh. Also, whoever they were, they knew about the terrorists. They would have had to - how else were they able to trick them into driving into a location where no one would be hurt by the explosion, and then scare them enough so that the terrorists blew themselves up rather than be taken alive?"

"You're making them sound like superheroes or something," one of the junior Feds said, trying to keep a sneer off his face. He didn't notice the other LAPD officers exchanging looks, they knew their captain's reputation from his time in Homicide over the years.

"Well, I don't think they have a comic book, but they're someone we need to know more about."

 **Richmond, Virginia. 2:14 PM local time, 2:14 PM EDT**

"Oh don't you worry, I'm working on the paperwork right now."

Cleburne kept an eye on the workmen working in his kitchen, as he made notes during his phone conversation. "The workmen are patching up the floor as we speak." He listened for about a minute.

"Come on, I know the budget has a special discretionary fund in it for their mischief! Remember, I insisted on it the last time we submitted the paperwork, 'cause this isn't the first time something like this has happened. And don't you dare say boys will be boys or some other cliché like that, I've got a freaking hole in my kitchen floor and roof!"

He scribbled down some more notes. "And another thing, this kind of thing raises havoc with the security system. It's not like I can program it to know the roof being blown off is just the merry trio downstairs getting up to their usual hijinks!"

Cleburne looked up as one of the workmen dropped his hammer. He glared and the workman hurriedly picked up the hammer, quickly going back to work. "Don't give me that! And another thing, do you know how much it costs to have a contractor on retainer for emergency repairs?" He listened for a second. "So I said 'and another thing' twice. I'm under stress here, my investment is becoming a money pit. I didn't intend that when I bought this property!"

"Don't mock the Cleburne retirement fund, I don't see *you* offering up your pension." Cleburne moved out of the way of a couple of workmen who were bringing materials in. "I'm serious." He listened for a few seconds. "Okay, I'll get the papers to you in a little bit. The three of them are downstairs right now. I'm going to pay them a personal visit before I head back to Washington." 

"Yeah, I'll ask him about that, but I think he can't help beyond what he has already, all he knows is that someone mailed those letters." Cleburne moved out of earshot of the workmen. "I'm getting Fletcher up here tomorrow, and we're going to meet with the people from the postal service to see if they have any ideas. I mean we're not even sure if it's an organized terrorist act, or just some lone nut."

He listened for about a minute. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, the vaccine is pretty painful and we don't know if they're under threat. Plus it's not like he gets his own mail. Tell you what, I'll talk to them and they can make the decision. No, I think they can make that decision." Cleburne frowned for a second. "Smallpox, you want me to mention that as well? Yeesh, what a world we're living in..."

 **International Airport, Prague, Czech Republic. 9:10 PM local time, 3:10 PM EDT**

"I'm sorry, sir, I know you were scheduled to leave tonight for the United States, but the flight isn't going to leave until tomorrow at the earliest," the attendant behind the airline desk said.

Brother Feodor sighed, this was an unforeseen and unwelcome complication. "What exactly is the problem?"

"It's the Americans. What with the events of the past day or so, they've shut down all air traffic coming into the country. No civilian planes are allowed. The flight obviously can't take off if we don't know whether or not it will be able to land at its destination," was the explanation given by the airline employee.

"I see, so do you have any idea when the flight will be able to leave?" the undercover Abbot for the Order of Dagon asked.

"We're hoping tomorrow afternoon sometime. If you want, you can check back in the morning?"

The monk nodded. He had waited this long, he could wait another evening.

 **Sunnydale, California. 12:45 PM local time, 3:45 PM EDT**

The demon known as Doc made his way through the sewer tunnel. He was easily able to travel up there in the daylight, looking the way he did, but the party he was meeting would draw too much attention to itself if it attempted to do the same. So arrangements had been made for an underground meeting.

He walked into a large chamber. "Hello?" Doc's voice echoed off the wall. The silence that met him lasted for a few seconds.

"You came."

Doc turned to face what had spoken. "Yes. I need an item, a magic tome of sorts. You came highly recommended."

The demon he was talking to stepped out of the shadows. The creature was large and had ridges up and down his body, there was no danger of this demon being mistaken for a human. "Can you meet my price?" it asked.

"For this, no price is too great."

The demon walked further into the room, its feet splashing in the water. "What is it exactly you seek?"

"The Grimoire of the Meclurian Gathering."

The demon drew back at once. "You ask too much!"

"It's what I need, and I'm told that you have the tome," Doc replied, losing the pleasant demeanor. "You will provide it to me."

"No. The Grimoire is too dangerous, its use is forbidden - it can be used to summon...dangerous things," the demon took another step back.

"It will help me bring back Glorificus. How can something which can do that be wrong?" Doc tried a charming smile, which was ruined by his human guise briefly rippling to show the demon underneath, tail and all.

The other demon started shaking its head. "No. No, she is gone, and bringing her back would be a disaster for us all. Besides, I have heard what happened two years ago. I will not be party to anything to do with that, I do not want her assassin coming after me as well."

Doc's eyes fluttered for a second, showing their true appearance. "I care nothing about your cowardice, all I care about is the Grimoire. You will bring it to me. Now. You have no other choice in the matter."

The demon kept edging away from Doc. "You are all alone here, you can't force me to do anything-"

"You fool. What makes you think I came here alone?" All around them several demons came out of the shadows, including Jinx, Dreg and Murk, which caused the reptilian demon to whip his head around in shock and dismay.

"I am never alone. The followers of Glorificus are legion," Doc said with a horrible smile.

 **Private airfield outside Rome, Italy. 10:03 PM local time, 4:03 PM EDT**

"Welcome back, sir," the underling said with the proper respect as the Immortal came out of the Lear jet. "I hope your trip was successful?"

The Immortal deigned to notice him. "Yes, they were most accommodating of my needs. I hear there were some occurrences while I was away, though?"

The underling followed behind as the Immortal walked to the car. "Oh yes, sir. The events in America definitely had an effect here also. I'm told that Colonel Qadaffi is terrified that he is about to be attacked next."

"Good, a scared Qadaffi is one who will be more compliant with my wishes when I need him."

The underling smiled in the way he was supposed to when his master stated some obvious fact like it was a deep insight into the universe. "Sir, Countess Bathory appears to believe that there may be more to the Americans' actions than meets the eye. She is making inquiries of her agents there. She sent word that if we should learn anything, we are to notify her."

The Immortal paused as he arrived at the luxury car. Sometimes he wondered if he should simply tell that vampiress once and for all that they were equals, and that he was not her damned messenger boy. He simply shook his head, though, that was something for another day. "Of course, that goes without saying. For now, though, I am tired and wish to rest. Later on, arrange for a woman to amuse and entertain me. It's unfortunate how my former companion had to become a guest of Charles Taylor's hospitality, but such is life - and no doubt his minions will be enjoying themselves with her for a while."

The underling knew better than to make any comment about that.

 **A military airfield outside Lisbon, Portugal. 9:10 PM local time, 4:10 PM EDT**

The Immortal might not have been so desirous of rest if he could have known the role the former South African mercenary known as Cyrus would play in his future. At the moment, however, Cyrus was driving towards a hangar.

The craggy blond man regretted leaving Lisbon. He had enjoyed himself here, and knew he could have enjoyed himself a whole lot more. However, when the call came, he was a good enough soldier to know when not to delay. His American friends seemed to have accomplished what they wanted to do during the last few days, despite the...collateral damage, or whatever their military called it. Now they were looking at tangling with the things which went bump in the night again.

So they were sending out a call to arms to those who had been in the night before, which definitely included him.

Cyrus parked the car and simply walked into the hangar without looking back, he knew the vehicle would be taken care of. He was met by an Air Force MP holding a clipboard. "Can I see some identification, sir?"

Cyrus had already been through three checkpoints, and if his identification papers had been out of order he simply wouldn't have gotten this far. Still, the USAF man was not going to take any chances, not after everything that had happened back home lately. He looked over the papers Cyrus gave him very carefully.

The MP finally nodded and handed them back to Cyrus. "Thank you, sir. They're expecting you." He pointed over towards a military transport. "You should be in Washington for breakfast."

"What, no food on the flight? And here I was looking forward to the lovely stewardesses feeding me," Cyrus said with a smile.

The MP smiled back, it had been a long tour of duty lately and he was only human. "You'll get the same treatment the brass gets, I'm sure."

Cyrus smirked. "I hope not. I want to be treated better than that!" He then walked past the SP with a jaunty salute and boarded the plane.

 **Highway between Los Angeles and Sunnydale, California. 1:47 PM local time, 4:47 PM EDT**

Giles drove his car down the interstate back towards Sunnydale. Tara sat in the front passenger seat alongside him. She had decided to do that when they'd left Los Angeles, figuring that Buffy and Willow would want to talk together about what had happened on the trip home.

She was quite right, too.

Despite their best efforts, Angel had refused to give the Scoobies any information on how to contact Xander or the secret agents he was with. Willow and Buffy had asked, begged, cajoled, pleaded, and done anything else they could think of to try and get the information, but to no avail.

"Well, that could have gone better," Willow commented.

Buffy stared out the window at the passing scenery. "No argument here from me. God, I knew that they'd gotten close towards the end of senior year. But I never thought they were *that* close! Angel was, is, willing to..."

"...say no to you. Just for Xander," Willow finished the sentence.

"Yeah. I guess I hadn't expected Angel to move on that much. And he clearly has, he's going to be a daddy now after all."

Willow shook her head. "There's nothing bigger than that a guy can do to move on. Y'know, that might be one of the reasons Angel is so loyal to Xander nowadays."

Buffy looked puzzled. "What do you mean, Will?"

"Well, Xander must still be giving Angel some kinda advance knowledge dealie. I mean, like I've said before, how else would Angel have known for me to prepare the spell to ensoul Darla? Xander's been helping Angel avoid the mistakes from the first time around, like he has with us and the government. And Angel's thing, it's really big Buff. I mean think about it, he's spent nearly 250 years being a vampire and now out of the blue - he's going to have a family. That's huge!"

"Well, yeah," Buffy said reluctantly. "But thing is, Xander missed out on a few things."

"Such as?"

"Cordelia," was the one word answer.

Willow nodded. She had spoken with the former cheerleader before the Sunnydale crowd had left town, and the brunette had promised to keep her friend informed on how well her efforts on forcing Angel into giving up the required information would go. It was also obvious to the redhead that Queen C was still carrying a major torch for her ex. "Well, I'm not sure what happened there, Buffy. Uh, we both saw how her boyfriend didn't exactly seem happy when Xander was mentioned, a-a-and I don't think their conversation afterwards outside was all that rosy either." A truck towing a semi-trailer passed the window next to Willow with a loud roar, cutting off anything else she might have said.

Buffy just looked at her best friend, she too had seen the ruined mascara after Cordelia had come back into the hotel a few hours ago. "I don't know, Willow. I mean, nowadays it's been so long since Angel and Cordy were in Sunnydale - I can't help wondering, what was it like in the original history Xander remembers? Maybe Cordelia was still together with him in Sunnydale, at this point? Or did she leave for LA after Graduation, like she did here? More importantly, though, how would things be if we had all been better friends that night outside the Bronze?"

Willow swallowed. "I don't know, Buff. And I'm not sure I *want* to know anymore either. I mean, we can't change what's happened in the past, but can we change things now? Of course we can, we just have to find a way to do so. "

"You really think you can do what Cordy suggested, and modify that spell you did all those years ago?" the Slayer looked askance at the witch.

"I don't know. I mean, Hecate...she's kinda temperamental about that sort of thing," Willow said delicately.

"Well, we have to find Xander first. We still have to find him first," Buffy sighed.

Willow nodded. "We will."

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 2:08 PM local time, 5:08 PM EDT**

"Thank you, come again soon and spend more money!" Anya called out to the departing customer.

It had been a brisk and efficient day for commerce at the magic supply store. Anya was happy with the profit margin for the day, particularly since Giles had made her co-owner a few months before. Which was hardly surprising, what with all her contacts Miss Jenkins was the key for the magic store maintaining a good profit margin lately.

Anyway, with Giles in Los Angeles with Buffy and Willow, Anya was in charge of the Magic Box. She was taking advantage of this to try out some novel ideas to sell some of the less popular items. She had sent Andrew to pick up some supplies; and with no customers or Scoobies in the store at the moment, right now she was all alone with the money.

Resisting the urge to check the day's takings again, Anya reached under the counter and took out the remote for the TV located at the end of the counter. She pushed the Play button and the tape started running.

Anya watched Willow's videotape, staring at the screen. This Xander Harris person definitely intrigued her. The stories she had heard about his tongue ever since last Christmas certainly made her want to know more about him, anyway.

{After all,} she thought to herself as the TV screen flickered in front of her, {I might want to try this thing I heard some customers talking about recently, trading up I think they called it?}

"I wonder what his earning potential is. And Harris must know something about the stock market." Anya mused to herself, watching the tape closely. If only she knew the truth, though.

 **Sunnydale, California. 3:19 PM local time, 6:19 PM EDT**

Cassie Newton came through the front door of her house. "Mom, Dad?"

"We're in here!" her mother called out from the kitchen.

"I'll be there in a second!" Cassie walked into the nearest bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. For the last few days, her headaches had varied in pain and intensity. The last few hours, they had been letting up, but she still wanted to take an aspirin.

She grabbed a bottle and took two tablets, washing them down with water. The girl then headed down to the hallway to the kitchen, with a new spring to her step. As her head had cleared up, Cassie had liked what she had seen more and more.

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles California. 3:36 PM local time, 6:36 PM EDT**

"Well, I'd say that now we know why they were so protective of our dear acquaintance, Mr. Alexander Harris," Linwood Murrow snarled to the room full of lawyers. There was a video screen on the wall behind the conference table, and on it was the frozen image of Xander exiting from the airliner in Baltimore.

"We've been trying to find out whatever we can, sir. However, the cover story about it being FBI agents on the planes is being totally bought by the media. If our people ask much beyond that, they risk attracting too much attention to themselves," one of the junior lawyers said.

"And we certainly don't want that, they've only just finished repairing the lobby and cleaning the carpets around here," Lilah Morgan interjected, referring to the visit by the government earlier in the year. She had fully recovered by now from the First Evil's little visit the previous night, as the liaison to the Senior Partners had taken over the matter and relayed the orders for her to cooperate fully with the First. Given how the most ancient form of Evil was quite capable of exterminating the Wolf, Ram and Hart if it so chose.

"Bathory is also asking questions. Her people have been in contact with our Washington branch," Gavin Park said, looking towards the head of the Special Projects division. "I'll contact them to coordinate with her."

Lilah shook her head at once. "No, I'll contact her people. I'm more familiar with that account." Also, she did not want Park and his ambition anywhere near that particular client.

Park nodded with a smirk on his face. "Of course. Just trying to help."

Lilah smiled back. "Of course. However, I'm sure there are other ways for you to contribute Gavin. Perhaps you could talk to our contacts within the LAPD and see if there's some connection with that explosion they've been talking about on the news?" The smirk quickly left the Asian attorney's face.

"What about Mr. Harris? What do we do next there?" The associate named Angela, who had fixed Lilah up on a date a few days previously, asked. "Concentrate our resources elsewhere?"

"No, we still want to avail ourselves of whatever Mr. Harris can offer us. Besides, he is leading us to that *extremely* well-hidden department of the government that's proving to be of concern to so many of our clients." Linwood picked up the remote from the table in front of him and pressed the Play button. He then paused it a few seconds later.

Images of the Siberian agents played on the screen for everyone in the room to see, especially the face of the one and only Joshua Cleburne.

"After all, our problem with them goes way beyond Mr. Harris now."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 4:11 PM local time, 7:11 PM EDT**

Joyce made her way from the kitchen to the living room. Buffy and the others had gotten back from LA a short while ago, and they were now in the living room. Dawn was there as well, trying to get information about what had happened during the meeting with Angel.

Joyce made her way to the living room as Dawn said loudly, "Come on, he must have given you some idea on how to get in touch with Xander! He admitted to knowing all about what happened back then and the whole future knowledge stuff, so he has to have *some* way to get in contact with him!"

Willow was the one answered, shaking her head. "He does, but he wouldn't tell us any details apart from the occasional letter thing. Believe me, Dawnie, we tried everything we could think of - short of trying to torture the information out of him!"

"Indeed, uh, Angel did provide us with some information. However, none of it told us how we can contact Xander ourselves," Rupert told the youngest Summers female.

Buffy was off to the side, looking out the window. "Yeah, my ex was more interested in telling us the theme of his kid's first birthday party instead."

Joyce winced at that, Giles had already filled her in on Darla being pregnant by Angel. Joyce knew that it had to be hard on her little girl to have learned that, even though Buffy claimed to have moved on from her first love after the past 2 1/2 years.

"Yes, well, um, th-there have been quite a few...revelations over the last two days, I must admit," Giles responded uncomfortably.

"I could try talking to him. Appeal to his ego with that hurt little schoolgirl act Buffy used to be able to do," Dawn said, ignoring the brief glare from her big sister. "Besides, Angel always liked me, it's probably our best chance to get him to open up!"

Buffy shook her head as she moved away from the window. "No, Dawn. Angel was...pretty determined not to answer our questions, and emotional appeals aren't gonna cut it, not from you or anyone else. It's part of why I'm sure he knows some way to get in touch with Xander if he absolutely has to."

"How do you figure that?" Dawn asked.

"Well, Angel told us about the whole headache issue for Xander and the whole government secret agent thing, so, so, the two together act like a really big stop sign for telling us some way to talk to him," Willow replied. "I mean, I've never seen Angel so determined to say no about something. And his friends were no help either, apart from Cordy. Y'know, it was almost like the civil war between the North and the South, we practically had all the Sunnydale and Los Angeles people on opposite sides today."

Buffy stiffened at Willow's words. "Civil War!" She stood up and went to the TV.

"Buffy?" Joyce asked in confusion as her daughter turned on the VCR and started rewinding the videotape that had been the center of their universe during the last 24 hours.

Willow saw what was playing on the TV. "Buffy, what are you doing? I mean, we musta looked at that tape hundreds of times already!"

"Willow, do you remember that guy we met in the Lemke's bookstore once, the one who really started to go on and on about the Civil War?" Buffy said, folding her arms as she watched the screen, the remote in her right hand.

Willow nodded, scrunching her forehead. "Yeah, uh, he was a Colonel something-or-other. I remember it was really nice of him paying for those books, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Buffy fast forwarded a little bit more and then froze the picture. She stared for a few seconds. "Look familiar?"

Willow looked at the screen. "All I see are Xander and the others are carrying that woman to the ambulance."

"No! Look at the top of the stairs," Buffy said impatiently.

Willow stared at the location Buffy had indicated. After a few seconds, her eyes widened. "Oh my God, that's him! That's the man who kept talking about the Civil War, isn't it?"

"I think so. And he was visiting the bookstore where you work. Mom, your friend's husband, Josef Lemke, he owns it." Buffy said. She turned and looked at the screen. "I'd say we now have somewhere to start looking."

 **Richmond, Virginia. 7:42 PM local time, 7:42 PM EDT**

Fred was sitting on the couch facing the TV. She looked up as Xander walked into the living room. "Hello, Marine." The young woman was definitely getting a kick out of Xander now officially being in the service. "Glad to see you up and about. Your nap went on a lot longer than you thought it would, huh?"

Xander nodded and sat down at the other end of the couch. "Guess I was a lot more beat than I thought. Mother Hen's cure for last night apparently only goes so far."

"Speaking of the good colonel, he left this for you before he left." Fred held up a DVD case from the coffee table in front of her. Xander took it. He looked at the sticky note on the front. It read "You should watch this." He pulled the note off and saw the title of the movie; Tombstone.

{ I shoulda known, the old man gets an idea in his head - he never lets up on it. } Harris looked up when Fred cleared her throat. She was holding up a bowl.

"I made popcorn. And Oz has gone to get some soft drinks."

Xander smiled and scooted over to her, grabbing some of the popcorn. "Then let the movie night begin!"

 **White House, Washington D.C. 8:17 PM local time, 8:17 PM EDT**

"I don't like you, you know. So tell me, why am I here again?"

Richard Clarke looked up from his desk. Standing in the doorway of his office was Joshua Cleburne. "You seen this?" Clarke responded, as he handed over a memorandum.

Cleburne took it and read for a minute. Then he said, "Looks like someone ate their Wheaties this morning but no, I've not seen this paper. It seems that someone is making plans. Damn, I wish we could have gotten through this little episode before we start planning next year's trip."

Clarke got up. "Well, quite frankly, I don't like you either. But I think we can work together on this, at least for as long as it takes to solve this particular problem."

 **Cleveland, Ohio. 8:47 PM local time, 8:47 PM EDT**

Inspector Kate Lockley flipped on the light switch as she walked into her apartment. Somewhat tired, she tossed her keys in the bowl on the table next to the door. The blonde police detective then thumbed through her mail as she sat down on the couch in the living room.

She reached onto the coffee table and turned on the TV. The voice of Dan Rather filled the room and Kate sighed in dismay, as work had already given her all she wanted to know about the events of the last day or so. The Feds had been running her ragged all day with the special detail they wanted her helping out on. So she started flipping through the channels. The young woman finally found what she wanted, a comic doing a stand-up act on Comedy Central.

"There we go. Thank you Lord, I'm sure You of all people know how I need a good laugh right now," Kate muttered. She leaned back and continued going through her mail, only vaguely paying attention to the idiot box.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 6:12 PM local time, 9:12 PM EDT**

Angel stared at the wall of his office from his desk chair. The lights were off and the blinds were drawn, which suited his current mood perfectly. He had tried to resume reading "The Count of Monte Cristo", but that was pointless; too much had happened today for him to get any pleasure out of that timeless piece of literature.

"Well, well. Really getting into the brooding thing tonight, are we?"

Angel looked up and saw Darla standing in the doorway. "I, uh, needed some alone time," the male vampire replied.

"Sweetheart, you've been alone ever since Little Miss Blonde Concepts and her friends left hours ago. So I thought it was about time I should come on in here."

"And do what?"

Darla more or less waddled into the office. "Don't know, really. Cheer you up a bit, maybe? Warn you that Cordelia left muttering about buying some very sharp implements to shove up your ass?" She saw his look and smirked, "I see that got your attention, good. And I have to say, I'm kind of surprised how you're taking the appearance of the Slayer and her groupies. Come on, you had to know that this would happen someday!"

Angel shook his head. "Sure, but I had hoped to not have to deal with it until another two years down the road."

"Two years?" Darla cocked her head slightly.

"Yeah, Xander once said he thinks the headaches will finally go away during May 2003. Y'know, since that's as far as his future memories extend."

"Remind me to get the Kentucky Derby winners off of him before then," Darla smirked. "Oh, lighten up lover!" she said in response to the new look Angel sent her. "What say we turn in early tonight? Maybe things will look better in the morning, somehow."

Angel was silent for a few seconds. "Darla, this whole thing is...difficult."

"Well, of course it is. Everything with you is difficult these days, you and your sense of duty and that whole Champion thing. Sometimes it's so depressing, I wonder whether you'd be happier if someone unleashed an apocalypse to make you snap out of it! Is being a good guy always like this?"

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Not thinking of switching sides, are you? 'Cause I got to tell you, the bad guys pretty much took a beating today."

Darla laughed. "You did too, dear boy. Your ex-girlfriend really laid the smack-down on you, and in a way...it was sheer poetry to witness."

Angel turned back to looking at the wall. "Buffy was just angry, hopefully she'll get over it soon."

"I wouldn't bet on it. That girl has a whole lot of angry to work through, the rest of them as well." Darla carefully sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I can't help wondering. Were you *trying* to make them angry?"

"What? No, why would you think that?" Angel stared at his sire.

"Well, in the past, you must admit - your mind games always were a piece of art to admire."

Angel frowned. "That wasn't me, Darla."

"I know, and I of all people should know that. The others however, well, they just don't have the history with you that I do. And sometimes you all forget that. Anyway, I think you should talk to Cordelia tomorrow, get her to calm down enough to listen to reason."

"And how do I do that?"

Darla smiled. "You'll think of something, you're crafty that way. Maybe you could simply threaten to fire her? Gwen gets nearly all the visions these days, after all."

"I can't do that to Cordelia," Angel shook his head, briefly wondering when his other seer would return back into the fold. "Besides, she's too stubborn for her own good. I know her, Cordy would make too many waves trying to find Xander on her own. The odds are she'd end up dead thanks to one faction or another! You're right, I'll talk to her tomorrow."

Darla got up, as Angel swiftly came around to help the mother of his son do so. "Well, then I'd say that's enough for one day. Let's just go to bed, and deal with everything else after the sun comes up."

 **Somewhere in Liberia. 1:40 AM September 13, 2001 local time, 9:40 PM September 12, 2001 EDT**

The young child nervously held the AK-47 in his hands as he looked out into the darkness. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of the camp. Even at this late hour, there was still plenty of activity.

Some of the activity was quite scary for the little boy. He had been scared when the soldiers had come for him and the other male children in the village. The wars of Africa always demanded soldiers, and the younger the better. Being torn from his family had been the scariest day of his life.

Until now.

The creatures he had seen come into the camp during the last few days had been far more terrifying.

Some had looked human, but he only saw those at night, and sometimes their faces got incredibly twisted. Others did not look human at all. Some looked like something from out of the stories his mother used to tell him.

Then he had seen what the monsters had done to some nearby villagers. In the time he had been with Charles Taylor's forces, the boy had seen some horrifying things. But they *paled* to what he had seen over the past few days.

He still didn't know what was going on, but he was scared and if he ever got the chance he was going to run away the moment he could.

For now though, the boy just nervously clutched the AK-47 close to him at all times.

 **University of Georgia, Athens, Georgia. 10:11 PM local time, 10:11 PM EDT**

Within the Tate Student Center, Monica Carter made her way from the TV lounge with a book bag slung over her shoulder. She could hear the voice of Peter Jennings on the TV saying, "…the act named the Patriot Act was based on studies undertaken by the Department of Justice in the months leading up to the attacks."

She dodged through the crowd of students, still present even at this late hour, as she took a cell phone out of her book bag. Monica then dialed a number and waited a few seconds for an answer.

"Vic, what have you been able to find out?" she said in a sweet voice, doing what young women have done all over the world since time immemorial; sweet-talking young men for a favor.

"Monica, I've made some phone calls about those people at the game on Saturday. But the names don't match."

Monica frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The names you gave me aren't on any lists for passes to the game."

"How can that be?" Monica muttered.

"Well, for one thing I'd imagine secret agents don't use their real names."

"What?" Monica snapped.

Vic started stuttering, "Uh, what I mean is that if they *were* government agents, well - they probably used fake names, SOP and all that. I looked through the lists of everyone who had field passes, Monica. I've eliminated all of those from UG. However, there is one group of field passes for the alumni office of the University of South Carolina that matches what you described, so it looks like they weren't lying about being from South Carolina anyway."

Monica smiled. "South Carolina, huh? Hmmm. I think a road trip is in order."

 **Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. 10:45 PM local time, 10:45 PM EDT**

The Marine officer checked his clipboard as he walked down the corridor with doors in the cells along both sides. He was making the rounds, as he did every hour of his shift.

He wanted to make sure all of the 'guests' were nicely settled in for the evening.

 **Wolfram & Hart Branch Office, World Trade Center, New York City. 11:57 PM local time, 11:57 PM EDT**

"Excuse me, Baron Roja, but if you will follow me please?" the secretary asked respectfully.

The aristocratic vampire known as Ivan Roja got up from the couch in the office lobby and followed her down the corridor to a corner office. As he entered, the lawyer in the office stood up from behind the desk. He bowed and indicated the chair set aside for the one-time Hungarian nobleman. "Baron Roja, welcome to the New York branch of the firm. We here at Wolfram & Hart are honored to be able to serve you."

Roja smiled arrogantly and sat down in the chair. "Good, now do you have what I asked for regarding this so-called Timetripper?"

The attorney nodded. "Yes sir, the Los Angeles branch sent us the information you requested."

"With some things left out, no doubt."

The attorney frowned. "Sir, I assure you..."

Ivan Roja waved a hand. "Please, I have dealt with your firm and its Senior Partners before. And I'm sure that once I arrive in California, I can find out for myself the information you and your people conveniently omitted to include. So for now, just tell me all you know about Alexander Harris and his friends." Behind him, the clock on the wall clicked over to show that it was now midnight.

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**Part Fifty-one**

 **Just outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. September 13, 2001**

As Gwen Raiden walked up the garden path to her nominal place of employment, she had no idea how within the headquarters of Angel Investigations - the crap was about to hit the fan, big time.

The thief had mostly been bored over the last few days, even though she'd taken part in the plan to prevent the horrors of 9/11 from ever taking place. Part of Michael 'Red' Byrne's strike team aboard American Airlines Flight 77, mostly she'd just hung around at Dulles International Airport and then inside the cockpit after the plane had taken off, waiting for a fight that had never come.

{Can't believe I actually missed this place} Gwen thought to herself philosophically, heading towards the front doors of the hotel. {Hey, don't tell me I'm starting to get domesticated or something? Damn it, my reputation as a thief is gonna go straight down the drain!}

Miss Raiden didn't need to worry on that score, though, because it wasn't so much a place that she had missed rather than...a person. The one and only Charles Gunn. Demon fighter, vamp killer and potential boyfriend extraordinaire.

It still made Gwen feel uncomfortable, however, thinking of the black man that way. Because as things stood, their relationship was doomed before it even started; on account of they couldn't *do* any of the things two people normally did when finding themselves in 'that place'. Like it or not, their first kiss would also be their last one, after Gunn got killed by the electric shock emanating from her body.

The Electra Girl growled to herself unhappily, as she walked through into the lobby. She stopped at the entrance, looked around and saw that everyone was present. However, something didn't feel right to her.

Cordelia was sitting at her desk with a big scowl on her face. Wes and Gunn were at a table nearby, sneaking furtive glances at Cordelia as they pretended to be researching. The door to Angel's office was open and she could him sitting at his own desk, trying to look busy. Darla was on one the couches with her feet propped up, drinking out of a mug, with something of a smirk on her face.

Angel spoke up, "Cordy, can you please get me the phone number for Huber Storage?" Gwen noticed Wes and Gunn grimacing a little bit at that request.

At first Cordelia didn't say anything, her scowl just got fiercer. She then reached down into a drawer in the front desk and pulled out a phone book. She subsequently walked over to the door to Angel's office. With an angry look the woman lofted the phone book over her head, threw it directly into Angel's face and then the brunette seer quickly stomped back over to her desk, still scowling all the while.

Angel grunted as the phone book found its target. "Thank you, Cordelia!" the vampire called out after a few seconds, rubbing his nose as he did so.

Cordelia shook her head in anger. "Shut up, Angel! I'm still not talking to *you*. Not now, and maybe not ever again," she growled, glaring in the direction of the male vampire's office. Needless to say, she was still very upset after the events of the last 24 hours, where the former cheerleader had found out some very shocking things.

"Cordelia..." Wesley started to say nervously, he had stood up from the table and walked hesitantly towards her.

"I swear, Wesley, you better stay quiet - or I'll get out a bigger phone book and use you for target practice! 'Cause my arm isn't tired at all!" Cordelia shouted, sending her best 'Queen C' glare at the Englishman who quickly shut up and backed away.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Gwen demanded, as she walked towards the office door and all heads turned to face her.

"Hey, you're back!" Gunn sent the other seer for Angel Investigations a wide smile that Gwen instantly returned. "Missed you around here lately."

"Yes, definitely," the very pregnant Darla drawled, clutching her belly as she waddled over from the couch to lean against the front desk. She was no fool, and could tell how those two had moved a touch beyond the friendship stage.

"Well, thanks," Gwen said. "But I still want to know, what's going on? How come the princess just sent a beanball at the boss of this little outfit?"

"Because Angel knew. He knew all along that Xander was still alive, and he LIED to me about it all these years!" Cordelia practically screamed. She'd always had a major problem with regard to liars, as she'd once confessed to Wesley; Miss Chase's daddy issues had cost her her boyfriend back in the Sunnydale of 1998, and they looked set to cost her her job, here and now.

"Xander? Xander Harris?" Gwen asked with a stunned look on her face. { So she finally found out, huh. Now how did that happen? Damn, I knew it would happen sooner or later though... }

"Yeah, that's him," Cordelia replied, glaring at Angel - who had come out of his office and was very wisely staying silent. Then Miss Chase frowned, turning to look at Gwen. The vision girl couldn't recall ever mentioning a certain something to her work colleague. "Hey, how did you know his last name?"

Miss Raiden exhaled, knowing when the jig was up. "Because he was the one who originally sent me here, after he told me what was going on - when I started getting the visions."

Cordelia twisted around and started at Gwen in disbelief. Wesley and Gunn were looking surprised as well, even if Angel and Darla weren't, but Cordelia paid all of them no heed. "WHAT did you say?"

"I said, that guy sent me here to take over for you way back when," Gwen shrugged, bracing herself for the arrival of Hurricane Cordelia. "That's how I know who he is. I've known him for about a year now, as a matter of fact."

Sure enough, Cordelia didn't disappoint. She yelled angrily, "YOU BITCH!" as she charged forward. Most likely Cordy would have done something stupid too, from the look on her face, if Gunn and Wes hadn't managed to restrain her in time.

"Lemme go!" she demanded furiously, as the woman struggled to get loose.

"Not until y'all calm down, girl," Charles told her firmly. He grimaced as Cordelia kept struggling, "I said calm down!"

"Let her go," Gwen suddenly ordered him, grasping her hands together tightly.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Angel spoke up, looking worried at what was going on.

"If I were you, I'd quit while you're still behind, dear boy," Darla advised him with a big smirk on her face. She was enjoying herself immensely as, for her, this was all basically free entertainment.

As Wesley and Gunn released her, Cordelia glared at Gwen. The former Sunnydale girl felt a deep sense of bitter betrayal as she said, "You really are part of the gang now, huh? Even *you* knew the big secret! I was the only one who didn't. You lied to me, just like everyone else around here-"

"No. I didn't lie to you; I just didn't tell you everything," Miss Raiden said firmly, cutting the Chase woman off. "And given what Hall - Harris - said happened between you two guys when you were in high school, you have to admit. I had my reasons to do that."

The words struck Cordelia like a hammer blow, amplifying her misery and causing her to miss out on the 'Alexander Hall' reference. "Where is he? *Please*, tell me! I just wanna make it all up to Xander, somehow!" Miss Chase tried not to think of her ex-boyfriend Chuck at that moment, who had somehow known the truth long before she did and had broken up with her because of her real feelings for Xander.

"I don't know where the guy is these days," Gwen admitted simply. "That was part of the deal: no more direct contact. He just told me the situation, and then I came here." Gwen hesitated, and then decided not to mention anything about Siberian Trip Wire. And just to be safe, during that instant the Raiden woman decided not to tell the Siberians anything about this conversation either. Then she said, "He did sorta give me a message for you, so to speak..."

Cordelia's eyes lit up at once. "What? What did Xander say?"

Gwen frowned, trying to remember the exact words the former demon slave had said all those months ago. "Well, before we parted company I asked him what I was supposed to say if and when you ever learned the truth. And Harris said that this thing with you and me and the visions, it was nothing personal, just business. And as for the rest of it, he hesitated a bit before telling me not to bother saying anything - guy mentioned something about how the odds were that you'd never believe whatever I'd say at this point, anyway."

Cordelia got a strange feeling running down the back of her spine, after hearing that it was almost as if Xander was present in the room and the words were coming out of his own mouth. "Anything else I should know?"

Gwen sighed, figuring that if she had gone this far - she may as well spill everything at this point. She tuned to face Angel, "Go ahead. Tell her."

The ensouled vampire instantly shook his head in denial, knowing what Gwen was talking about. "That's *not* a good idea!"

"What's not a good idea?" Cordelia glowered at him.

"Hey, if you don't tell her, I will," Gwen engaged in a battle of wills with the head of the detective agency. "Damn it, Angel, she deserves to know about this! It's her life, after all!"

"What are you people talking about?" the brunette seer-slash-actress looked ready to pick up another phone book again at any moment.

"I think Gwen's right," Darla spoke up, as everyone turned to look at her. She had read Xander's letters to Angel as well, after all, and knew that Miss Chase had been destined to die by 2004 in the original history. "Cordelia deserves to know the truth, no matter how upsetting it'll be for her."

Angel glanced at Wesley and Gunn, but they were too smart to get involved in a matter like this right now. Giving up, he sat Cordelia down on the couch next to Darla and told her everything. He then sent Wesley to get Xander's letters for Cordelia to read, to prove everything he had just said was true.

Naturally, Miss Chase fainted and refused to wake up again for a *very* long time.

 **Main Street, Sunnydale. The same time**

Buffy Summers was not in a good mood.

There were a number of reasons for this to be so. First and foremost, as the Chosen One she disliked feeling like a fool under any circumstances. Second, she disliked the idea that Josef Lemke - someone she liked and trusted, a man who had peripherally become part of her life over the last year or so - might actually be a spy for the people who Xander was currently associating with. Thirdly, she didn't know which was the best way to confront the shopkeeper about her suspicions without it ending up a complete debacle.

{ I mean, I can't just barge into the book store and threaten to beat him up if he doesn't start talking, } Buffy thought to herself, as she slowly walked in the direction of Willy's bar. { For one thing, if Josef really is an innocent bystander, he might just call the Sunnydale PD to have me arrested. And if he isn't, he'll report what he knows back to the evil spymasters and they'll know the jig is up. Either way, I don't get any closer to finding where Xander's been hidden these days. }

Willow and Tara had come up with some ideas, after Andrew had mentioned something about his favorite James Bond movie and whether or not they were all under surveillance right now. But that didn't help with the Slayer's developing feeling of helplessness, the idea that despite being the one to kick ass all the time and constantly save the world - she was powerless to help the person she had once called her best male friend.

And even if she could help, the man in question didn't want any such thing from her.

"I really gotta kill something already," Buffy muttered to herself, retreating into the most ancient form of Slayer therapy imaginable as she headed in the direction of the demon bar as fast as she could.

 **Great Russell Street, London, England. September 16, 2001**

Within his office at the Council's HQ, Roger Wyndham-Pryce turned the page of the report he had been reading. A knock on the door caused him to look up at his assistant standing in the doorway.

"Sir, he's here," the man called Nigel said deferentially.

Pryce nodded. "Very well, send him in." He put down the report, and settled back into his chair.

A few seconds later, the assistant ushered in a man with a goatee. "Mr. Smithers, good of you to come." Pryce motioned for the new arrival to sit as Nigel exited the room.

"Well, it's not every day the leader of the Council that threw me out asks me to come back in."

Pryce nodded. "Yes, well, about that. The fact is, your rather ignominious exit from the organization was a matter concerning the previous leadership of the Watchers. There were those of us who felt that it was too hasty, and something of an overreaction."

"Ah, I see. I can also see where after careful consideration of oh, say, twelve years, one could jump to that conclusion."

Roger tried not to take it personally. He'd known this was going to be difficult, Travers had not engendered warm feelings for the Council in this man with his actions. "As you may know, there have been certain events leading to changes in the leadership and policies of the Council ever since February..."

"I've heard many things, old chap, ever since 1999 as a matter of fact. You lost a Slayer, and not the normal way either: she just didn't want to have anything to do with the Council anymore. Not to mention, the other Slayer located at the other Hellmouth is now operating at the sufferance of the American government?" Smithers asked.

"Times change," Pryce replied, trying to remain civil. "And you know as well as I do that the Council needs to be able to adapt to different circumstances."

"Indeed, and how is Travers adapting?" Roger's latest visitor suddenly seemed to be more interested in the conversation.

Pryce suppressed a sigh. The blasted sod truly wasn't making this easy for him. "Quentin is being forced to adapt. In a jail cell, of all things." Pryce saw how the other man tried and failed to suppress a smirk at hearing that. "However, we are not here to discuss his past decisions."

"Indeed, then what are we here to discuss?"

"Your new job, Mr. Smithers. One that I think you'll be quite unable to refuse, once I explain what exactly it entails."

 **Siberian Trip Wire Conference Center,** **Washington D.C. September 17, 2001**

Xander Harris was a legend in the supernatural world. Ever since the previous week, he'd become a Marine officer. He had fought vampires, demons and monsters. He had saved countless lives. When he opened his mouth, it caused Presidents and world leaders to sit up and take notice.

Today, however, he was bored.

It was odd, as he was in a meeting that was addressing major issues, matters of life and death. But still, Xander was bored.

Cleburne had decided that the latest addition to the USMC needed to be more involved in the workings of the Siberians, now that he had an official military rank. So Xander had found himself in the meeting taking place to review what had happened ever since September 11.

That was this morning, granted. Harris had been able to basically observe and not participate too much in that meeting. But now he was into the second meeting of the day, and he was expected to be more involved. People were looking to him for his opinion, as this was a subject matter he had been living for years now.

The things that went bump in the night.

Bottom line? The 'vacation' for the supernatural after the events of 9/11 had come to an end. The Siberians has started up a weekly video teleconference among the various groups that were dealing with that fact. He was expected to be there and participate.

"This Ahluc demon is spending quite a bit of money a mite too freely, apparently. He has various vampires and demon lieutenants spreading out through New England," Siberian-slash-FBI agent Malcolm Fletcher was saying. "We haven't been able to find out what he's looking for yet, but whatever it is I think he wants it pretty badly."

Cleburne was taking notes. "Any ideas, Pryce?"

Roger Wyndham-Pryce looked out from one of the video screens. "If by that you mean do we know what the Ahluc's intentions are, I'm sorry to say that we do not. However, I have assigned many of our best researchers to the question as to what might be located in the New England area."

"So you'll read books?"

Pryce frowned. "More than just the library texts, of course. Prophecies, spells, scrolls..."

"Okay, then, lots of old papers for your grunts to read while you get your ducks in a row." Cleburne still was clearly somewhat miffed at the Watchers Council. "Monsignor Bentallo, how about the Church, can they help out?"

Another video screen had Bentallo sitting at his desk in Rome. "Yes, Colonel. I know the Special Office has some records concerning this demon. We will also see what records the Boston diocese might have as to what might be in New England, attracting his attention."

"Excellent." Cleburne looked at the agenda in front of him. "Well, I think that's all we need to cover for this week, so if there's nothing else-?"

"I do have one additional matter that I would like to raise," the head of the Council said from London.

Cleburne sighed softly, he had wanted to be done with the meeting early today. "Of course, and what would that be?"

"These meetings are good for information exchanges, as are the other sorts of meetings like our recent conference in Iceland. However, to facilitate matters even more efficiently I think we should explore an additional method of cooperation."

"And that would be?" Esther Marcum asked from where she was sitting.

"More direct interaction between our groups."

"By which you mean cell phones?" Cleburne said, not liking where this was headed.

"Of course not! I know for a fact that several organizations have had personnel attached to your organization, as liaisons and ambassadors so to speak. That's why I think we should explore the Watchers doing something similar."

"Oh, hell no!" Cleburne shot back at once.

"Why not, if I may ask? After all, Quentin Travers and all his associates are not in positions of responsibility in the Council anymore, and we *do* have resources and expertise that your organization is hard-pressed to match."

"Yeah, well, we've seen how they've been put to use in the past," Cleburne clearly wasn't budging on this.

"Again, I must point out all that was done under the authority of Quentin Travers. Come now, Colonel Cleburne, surely we cannot be held responsible for the actions of a previous administration any more than *you* can be held responsible for the actions of your organization's previous administrations?"

Cleburne was still frowning, but Esther managed to speak before he did. "Granted, but the colonel raises, in his own unique way, a valid point. We do have legitimate security concerns, particularly depending on the circumstances of the person who you might send."

"I agree, given what's happened in the past of course you would have concerns. After all, to my regret there have been similar difficulties with other groups besides yourselves. However, I have a candidate in mind for the job which I believe would be acceptable to all parties."

"Who would that be?" Esther again beat Cleburne in the race to speak.

"Alan Reginald Smithers."

That instantly elicited a laugh from Bentallo. "Colonel Cleburne, I must admit I'm looking forward to seeing your first meeting with him! And please allow me to be the first to reassure you that he is someone who would *never* be considered to be in the good graces of our old 'friend', Mr. Travers."

 **Not long afterwards**

"This is a bad idea," Cleburne trailed after Esther just as Xander trailed after Cleburne on their way to the middle-aged woman's office.

"Yeah, personally I really don't want to give the Tweed Brigade that many chances to change their minds about me visiting them in a permanent manner. I know we're playing nice with them and all these days, but still," Xander pointed out.

Esther shook her head at the two men following her. "I understand the concern, but I believe you're both worried for nothing. We're talking about only one man, after all. One man who, from what Monsignor Bentallo tells us, is completely estranged from the Watchers thanks to the actions of Quentin Travers all those years ago. Not exactly someone you would expect they would send to perform a snatch and grab operation, wouldn't you say?"

"No. Unless you wanna lull someone into a false sense of security, that is," Cleburne declared.

"Really, Joshua. That's a state I have never associated with you," Esther chuckled. "Besides, he would be an invaluable asset in the field when you encounter something unknown. No need to call England for information."

"There's this thing, maybe you've heard of it, called a cell phone. It's great for getting information when you're out in the field."

Esther smirked at Cleburne's wisecrack. "Yes, I'm sure. It's a wonderful thing, as long as there's a convenient cell tower around...which, correct me if I'm mistaken, in our line of work is very often not the case?"

Cleburne frowned at Esther. Xander spoke up, "I understand what you're saying, I really do. And heck, maybe this guy will be another Giles and we'll get on great, but what if he isn't? I'm not happy practically giving them a free second shot at me."

Esther turned to Xander and her expression softened. "I know your history with the Watchers gives you a reason to be concerned. However, you know as well as I do that there's a new leadership in place there now, one who's supposedly learned from the mistakes of the past. Monsignor Bentallo vouches for them and their choice of envoy. Also, I am sure that the good colonel will be most diligent in looking for any signs of treachery. All things considered, Mr. Howard, I am sure this arrangement will turn out to be beneficial for all parties involved."

"You do realize that you just jinxed us, don't you?" Xander looked pessimistic at the mention of his current alias.

"You know, the kid's right," Cleburne said firmly. "We're doomed!"

"I think you both exaggerate."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Mrs. Marcum, I know jinxes. And this has got 'jinx' written all over it."

 **Boston, Massachusetts. September 18, 2001**

Xander shielded his eyes from the sunlight, as he walked down the steps from the Lear jet the next day. Cleburne was already on the tarmac walking to the car. Harris had to admit to himself that he still had rather ambivalent feelings about this city, as this was where Faith, his first ever lover, had been born. And even though she was gone now it still hurt to be reminded of the brunette Slayer, and what he had given up after deciding not to remain dead that night when Spike had shot him in the back.

Malcolm Fletcher, Siberian-slash-FBI agent, was standing next to the car and said, "Colonel, Gunny, Mr. Howard. Welcome to Boston."

"Fletcher, anything new?"

Fletcher smiled at Cleburne's question. "They haven't found what they're looking for yet."

"And how do we know this?"

Fletcher smiled again at Cleburne's question. "I'm glad you asked."

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later**

They were in a room filled with video terminals. The group was looking at a screen which showed a picture of several demons sitting around a table. They appeared to be looking at several old scrolls and maps. Personally, Xander was reminded of a research party from the old days back in Sunnydale.

"So they were still looking when this was taken," Cleburne was staring at the monitor.

"They still are. This is real time footage, Colonel, not recorded."

Xander looked at the balding agent. "Where's the camera, some kind of remote location?"

Fletcher shook his head. "No, actually it's in the ceiling. The camera is barely the size of top of a pen. It blends right in, the demons haven't noticed the several weeks it's been in place."

"They simply missed it? That doesn't sound right. Does it have some kind of spell or something masking it?" Harris looked suspicious.

"No, the exact opposite. The demons do a spell every few days to make sure no one's using magic to spy on them, however they seem to completely overlook the mundane."

"I should have guessed," Xander shook his head.

"Do we have sound?" the Marine colonel demanded.

Fletcher reached down and headed a set of headphones to Cleburne. Joshua took them and listened for about thirty seconds. "They're frustrated. Good, we can use that."

 **Somewhere on the streets, near Boston Common. Later that night**

The Bhanrglish demon walked down the sidewalk, going from spot of light to spot of light created from the streetlights. He shoved his fingers deeper and deeper into his jacket pockets. He looked up and saw the building he was headed for. He was almost to the door when he heard the voice.

"You're still alive?"

The demon stopped at that, and looked into the shadows where the voice from coming from. "What?"

"I heard *certain people* are upset with you, you hadn't come through on something or another. The Ahluc is saying you've been yanking his chain as well. It's not happy with you."

The demon took a step towards the voice.

"Hey, don't get too close. I don't want to be associated with you right now!" With that, there was the sound of shuffling feet and a figure hurried down the alleyway from the demon.

 **Elsewhere in Boston. A while later**

The vampire made his way out of the demon bar, suppressing a curse as he did. He had lost a lot of kittens tonight at that poker game. He scanned the street, more out of habit than anything else, and noticed a dark van start up and turn on its lights. He started walking down the street, and saw the van pull into the street. Not exactly concerned, he pretty much expected it to pass him.

After a few seconds, the undead thing realized that the vehicle hadn't passed him yet. Suddenly suspicious, he turned around and saw the van was slowly moving up the street, as if following him.

"What the hell?" The vamp started towards the van. As he got close, it suddenly sped up and narrowly missed the soulless demon. He just barely jumped out of the way, and landed hard on the nearby pavement.

"I don't know what's going on, but someone is going to pay for that!" the vampire snarled in rage and annoyance.

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later**

Cleburne watched the monitor in front of him. "This is great, it's almost like watching the late show on TV. Now if I only had some popcorn..."

Xander chuckled at the remark. "Want me to pop some in the microwave?"

Cleburne shook his head. "No, I'm trying to cut back on snacks. We've definitely shook them up."

Fletcher leaned over and looked at the screen. "Yeah, they're snapping at each other, but they haven't really gone for each other's throats yet. They're still at the snarling stage."

"You need to know each of their strengths and weaknesses. These are demons, after all, not your ordinary garden-variety human criminals."

The three turned and look at the source of the comment. Red, Oz and a man with a goatee were standing in the doorway. Xander stared at him, and the one who saw everything had a few moments to analyse the newcomer. The Englishman didn't seem threatening to his eagle eye, and so Harris relaxed slightly. { Hopefully, this'll be G-man version 2.0 after all... }

Cleburne sniffed. "You must be from the land of bad teeth and warm tea."

"I'm Alan Reginald Smithers," the Watcher introduced himself blandly.

"Aren't you a character on the Simpsons?" Xander asked with a slight smirk.

"That's Waylon Smithers," Oz observed.

"I'm the liaison from the Watchers Council. Apparently, they seem to think I can aid you," the man said in that same bland way.

Cleburne looked back to the video screen, provisionally reassured by his instincts telling him that Smithers wasn't a menace to Xander or this operation. "So who did you tick off to get sent here?"

"Quentin Travers."

Xander looked up in surprise at Smithers' comment. "You're on that guy's shit list?"

"Indeed. Colonel Cleburne, Monsignor Bentallo said to tell you that I drove Travers to drink on occasion."

"What did he drink?" Cleburne didn't look up from the screen.

"Scotch. Well, at first, anyway, although near the end there he was also drinking whiskey." Smithers looked over Cleburne's shoulder. "Ah, now this is interesting."

"And what exactly is interesting?" Red asked.

"Well, you've got Bhanrglish and Luminaje demons working together. Normally they can't get along, unless..."

"Unless?" Xander said.

"Well, they do both share a fondness for rock candy."

"Rock candy?"

"Yes, it has some kind of calming effect on them, something about the sugar content."

"Sugar, huh. And if the sugar is off?" Xander asked the new arrival.

"Mood swings, aggression, paranoia."

Xander looked at Cleburne. "We we can work with that."

 **Demon HQ, Boston. September 19, 2001**

The Bhanrglish demon from the night before threw down the book. "Damn it, there's nothing here!" He reached over to the bowl in the middle of the table. "Hey, we're out of rock candy."

"There's more in the back," one of vampires said, not looking at the Bhanrglish.

"Well?"

"Well, what? What am I, room service? That's where it is, go get it yourself. I don't eat the stuff, since I actually prefer being on a liquid diet," the vampire wisecracked back.

"Damn vampires," the demon muttered to himself as he stomped off to the store room near the back. { Now where is it? } He looked around. { Oh, there it is. } The demon bent down and picked up the box. He was confused for a second, as the box looked like it had been moved a few inches from where he remembered it had last been. He then shook his head and took it into the main room.

In the alley behind the storehouse, Oz got into a grey van. Cleburne looked up from the crossword puzzle he was doing and said, "Good work, Wolfie, I guess all that time you spent hanging with Gwen Raiden is paying off."

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. A short while later**

A short while later Cleburne and Oz walked back into the warehouse being used by the Siberians. Fletcher was looking at the monitor. "Welcome back, guys. Good news: they've gotten the doctored rock candy and are chowing down on it."

Cleburne looked at Smithers. "How long?"

"I'd give it about a day, that should get the last trace of the normal rock candy out of their system and let them start wearing on each other's nerves."

 **Vatican City, Rome, Italy. Later that day**

Monsignor Bentallo turned the page of the book in front of him, as he sat behind the desk in his office. "And you found this in the literature of the archives?"

The priest standing in front of the desk nodded. "Yes, Monsignor. When I first noticed the similarities with what the Americans are reporting out of their Northeast, I considered it to be mere coincidence. However, the longer I reviewed the volume, the more I reconsidered my earlier position."

"I must admit that at first I too was surprised, however thinking about it, I can see your point." He reached and picked up his phone. "It seems that I am making this type of call to our friends in America more and more often, lately."

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. September 20, 2001**

Cleburne's cell phone buzzed. He pulled out of the belt pouch. "Hello."

He listened for a few seconds. "I see. Well, that is interesting. You'll get the particulars to us? Great, talk to you later Esther." He disconnected the phone. The others looked at him in expectation.

"Well?" Xander asked.

"Cotton Mathers."

"Huh?" Xander said.

"Of course!" Smithers said in understanding, looking up from the table where he was reading.

"And again I say, huh?" Xander repeated.

"Cotton Mathers was a minister in the New England region during the early 1700s. He was also a respected author and a leading moralist of the time. Nowadays, he's mostly known for his involvement with the Salem witch trials," Smithers explained.

"Okay, so he liked to burn people at the stake," Xander commented.

Smithers shook his head as he continued to address the group. "Actually, no one was ever burned at the stake in Salem. Those that were executed were hung. However, the point is that what's not as well known outside the Watchers Council is how Mathers was also a demon hunter, and actually assisted the vampire Slayer of that generation upon one occasion."

"So he qualifies as a good guy, well - semi-good guy?" Cleburne said, changing his comment after Xander's glare at him.

Smithers nodded. "Indeed. In between 1699 and 1700, you see, the Slayer of that time was in New England. The reason being, there was a coven of witches which was looking to exact revenge for the so-called trials that took place at Salem. As you may know, in the main it was mostly innocents who were killed by the tribunals, but some witches were slaughtered as well. In any case, the diaries of her Watcher say the witches' plan appears to have been to cause a massacre in the towns that played a role in the trials."

"How were they going to do that?" Fletcher asked as he kept watching the monitor. "Gangs of vampires?"

"No, actually, the local authorities handled the vampire threat in a competent manner. By coincidence more than anything else, the paranoia about witchcraft had prepared them well for most supernatural threats, including the undead. Several attempts involving vampires and lesser demons were unsuccessful."

"So why was the Slayer there, if the locals had it under control?" Red asked.

"Well, the witches escalated the, uh, threat potential, I suppose you could call it. They contacted a demon warrior cult for assistance. And despite the odds, they were actually sent a true demon warrior from Europe."

"As opposed to a regular demon warrior?" Oz raised an eyebrow.

"This warrior was much more dangerous than the demons you - we - normally face. Although not an Old One, it was nonetheless a creature whose abilities were roughly on par with those of the Judge, or maybe even Acathla. It was far beyond the ability of the local authorities to handle," Alan told the group solemnly.

"So the Slayer was sent in to help?" Xander asked, his face betraying nothing.

"Yes, the Council dispatched her there immediately once they learned of the witches sending for the damned thing," Smithers answered Xander's question. "The Royal Governor had them contact Cotton Mathers. They tracked down the target, and learned that the demon was attempting to perform a ritual that would turn the other local demons into warriors like itself; most likely to create a scourge to wipe the planet clean of human beings. The Slayer, Mathers and the local militia attacked during the final stage of the procedure..." Smithers trailed off.

"Well, since we didn't have an army of super-demons overrunning Boston and then the rest of the world back then, I'm assuming they stopped the ritual in time," Cleburne commented.

"Indeed. But at the same time as when the attack took place, a new Slayer was called elsewhere."

That fact silenced the room.

"So what happened afterwards?" Oz spoke up first.

"After burying his charge, her Watcher returned to England and told the Council that the true demon warrior had been killed." 

"Alright, well, that would explain the demons' interest in Cotton Mathers. Odds are they wanna learn how he and the Slayer killed the Big Bad back then," Cleburne cogitated.

"I would imagine so, Colonel Cleburne."

Fletcher frowned. "But why would it even matter now? Because that was over three hundred years ago, right?"

"Because these guys, they're looking into going for a repeat performance of what happened back then. And this time, they don't want anyone to spoil the show," Oz said with a burst of insight.

 **141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

For the past week Cordelia Chase had not left her apartment even once, apart from briefly going out to buy food and the other necessities. She had refused to talk to anybody from work either; the brunette woman had let anyone who banged on the front door keep doing so for as long as they liked, before they got tired of it and went away. For the too-persistent gentleman callers (in other words, Angel), Cordelia had let Phantom Dennis throw him out of the apartment head-first after the ensouled vampire broke in via one of the windows.

On account of Miss Chase was too busy thinking.

She had kept Xander's letters to Angel, and read them too many times to count by now. When Cordelia had read Harris's first letter, her heart had almost stopped after the line, " _Angel, the odds are that Cordelia's gonna be dead by 2004, if she continues on with the path she's travelling right now._ "

It was most unpleasant to read about your possible upcoming death, granted. But Cordelia had instantly wondered, why? Why was she destined to die before her 24th birthday? Then she had read the next part:

" _Look, what happened exactly is that I met this demon named Lorne in this place called Caritas; and believe it or not, I already knew who he was, as he's gonna be a good buddy to you and your little Fang Gang in the future. He read my destiny, and the green guy saw me in that other world with that goddamn eyepatch, paying my respects at her grave in LA around then. I'm guessing she's gonna have a vital role to play, to have been in the vision; so just in case I can't do anything about it, you do what you gotta do to save her in the future, okay?_ "

The emotions within Cordelia's mind at that point had been many and diverse. Cold, numb horror at the prospect of a one-eyed Xander standing over her grave while she was rotting underneath the earth. Curiosity over what role exactly she was destined to play in the grand scheme of things. And finally, strange as it seemed...a fiery warmth in the pit of her stomach that her ex-boyfriend still cared whether or not she lived or died.

There were other things in the first letter, such as Darla, Connor and the reappearance of Angelus during 2003, but they hadn't interested Cordelia too much at that point in time. Diving into the second letter, Cordy had impatiently skipped past the stuff regarding someone named Fred Burkle, before focusing on what was of most interest to her.

" _You were supposed to go to Pylea after Cordelia. In the future I remember, she got sucked into there by some sort of vortex or something._ "

{ Ewww, } Cordy had thought to herself at the time. { Thank God that never happened! Doesn't exactly sound like fun, anyway. }

The next part of the letter had read, " _I had four very interesting dream encounters with Anya, Willow, Buffy and Cordelia. And from what Dream Cordy said...I now think that someone or something was manipulating the situation during the original history, right from the start, when it comes to my ex and her 'gift'._ "

{ Manipulating me? } Cordy had asked herself at once. { Someone was - is - manipulating *me*? Like hell! NO ONE manipulates Cordelia Chase! }

" _See, I know from Lorne's reading of me that Cordy would have died during 2004, after becoming your seer. And *something* wanted that to happen to Cordelia; well, maybe not for her to die per se, but it wanted her twisted and suffering..._

 _And now, Gwen's getting the visions as well, and she could very well be a target for that too. Both Gwen and Cordy will need watching. I know that you'll do everything in your power to protect them; just please, be careful._ "

At that point, the tears had started to fall down Miss Chase's cheeks. She hadn't told anyone just how badly the visions had been hurting her before Gwen had more or less taken over her role as the seer of Angel Investigations, and the headaches and vision hangovers had finally subsided. { Oh my God, if Xander hadn't sent her here...then the damned vision things would have eventually *killed* me? No way! I couldn't have been that stupid not to seek help in getting rid of them, could I? }

" _As I said, I don't who or what it was, if I did - me and several close friends would be paying it a visit. So, you need to keep an eye out for *anything* which might fit the bill. If you come across it and need or want some help, just ring._

 _Heck, even if you don't need help, call me anyway. 'Cause I want a piece of its ass, to be honest. It's out to hurt one of my girls, and I'm not gonna just let that slide!_ "

{ One of 'his girls'? One of *his* girls?! } Cordelia's heart had almost exploded from happiness after reading that. It simply didn't occur to her that Xander might have been referring to Gwen Raiden with that remark; maybe it was wishful thinking but for the former Sunnydale High cheerleader, there was only one person Harris could have meant with that description.

Well, besides Buffy and Willow maybe. Seeing as Faith didn't count anymore, God rest her soul.

{ He still cares about me, } Cordelia thought to herself, as she put the second letter aside after reading it for the umpteenth time. Clad only in her nightgown within the Silverlake apartment's bedroom, she then cogitated, { Deep down, despite all the crap we went through back then and all the baggage he's obviously still carrying around, I'm sure that Xander still cares about me. I *know* he does! So the situation isn't hopeless, at least not yet. All I have to do is find him.}

Then Miss Chase recalled all the warnings Angel had told her, that people who went looking for Xander Harris had a nasty habit of ending up dead. Both thanks to Xander's keepers and the other players out there. The vampire's remark that he knew of least nine people who had been killed that way was also a bit of a downer, but it wasn't enough to quench the desire Xander's ex-girlfriend had to find him ASAP.

{ There's got to be a way to track him down safely. And I won't rest till I find it! }

At that moment, somewhere up above in a higher dimension, Jasmine finally made a momentous decision about who would have the 'honor' of being her mother in about a year's time.

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

"Andrew, you are sadness personified. Because first of all, Lex Luthor and Superman are just fictional characters, and secondly, everyone knows that the Treasury edition of 'Superman Versus the Amazing Spider-Man' sucked beyond belief!" Jonathan shouted.

Andrew looked upset, and started to yell back at the diminutive Mr. Levinson. Willow and Tara looked embarrassed, and decided to stay well out of it. Buffy just shook her head and headed down to the basement, preferring to check inventory rather than listen to this. And Anya...wasn't there, luckily, for her to start yelling at both of them.

"That's enough!" Giles finally roared, at the end of his tether. "Both of you great ruddy pillocks! Either take it outside my store, or knock it off right now!"

"He started it!" both Jonathan and Andrew whined at the same time.

Giles refused to dignify that with an answer, preferring instead to polish his glasses in order to avoid looking at the two young men in question. { Xander, when you warned me in that letter not to leave Sunnydale like I apparently did in the original history, I'd wager you never suspected that I'd have to deal with *this*... }

The ex-Watcher was not in the best of moods, to be sure. The search for Xander had gotten precisely nowhere so far. No one could figure out a way to approach Josef Lemke safely. Plus, Dawn wanted a raise for working at the Magic Box, arguing that she was long past due for one and she had finished paying off the property damage at his condo from back in May, when she'd found out she was the Key.

"Um, Giles?" Willow asked, as Jonathan and Andrew went outside to continue their argument. "You got a special delivery here. It's post-marked Egypt?"

Rupert quickly came over and took the package from the redhead's hands. Slowly, carefully, Giles unpacked it to find a small urn inside. His breath caught at the sight of it, as the urn was quite beautiful in own way. { Good Lord, Anya finally tracked it down! }

"What is that?" Willow asked, able to feel the magical power coming from the urn in waves.

"Is, is it...? Giles, is this an Urn of Osiris?" Tara asked, shocked. She had heard of them during her research into the Egyptian and Roman pantheon of gods last year, as part of an essay for her ancient mythology class.

"What's an urn of Osiris?" Willow asked in confusion, staring between Giles and Tara.

"They're, um, th-they were said to be used to resurrect the dead in ancient Egypt," Miss Maclay stammered. "I don't know how, though, exactly."

"So what's one of them doing here? Giles, I don't get it," Willow still looked confused, and then felt a chill as Rupert stared at her.

"According to Xander, this is the last known Urn in existence. And the final thing the boy warned me about in his letters was how this needs to be destroyed," the middle-aged man said with a remote, detached air. He decided to leave forever unmentioned the part where Willow should *never* be allowed to get her hands on it.

Before either witch could react, Rupert threw the delicate urn hard down onto the floor, where it smashed apart into several pieces.

"NO!" both Willow and Tara cried, albeit for different reasons.

Unbeknownst to them and Giles, though, the British man's actions had luckily just put a serious crimp in Doc's insane plan to resurrect Glory; and so, just as luckily, the world would still be there tomorrow.

 **Somewhere on the streets of Boston. September 21, 2001**

The Bhanrglish demon, the very same demon who had been the one to bring the Siberians' rock candy out of the storage room, walked out of the bar and wiped the blood from his lips as he did so. He seemed to be irritable all the time today, and he had gotten into a few fights because of it. He'd had to get out of the room they were using for research, before he started doing some real damage.

He looked around for a few seconds. Maybe going down to the store and getting some smokes would help. So he turned and started walking down the street towards his destination.

About two blocks down, the demon slowed down his pace and looked into a nearby alley. He could see some movement there. He looked closer, and to his concern it was one of the Luminaje demons. He moved so as to avoid detection.

The Luminaje was talking to someone, someone deeper in the alley within the shadows. He could make out the shape, it looked like a human. The conversation seemed to be wrapping up. The Luminaje took something from the other figure and then handed a sack over. He stuck whatever it was in his pocket and then the two of them turned away from each other, the Luminaje walking up the street and whoever or whatever he was talking to disappearing back further into the alley.

The Bhanrglish almost growled. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm going to find out!"

In the alley, Red kept walking away. The man cocked his head to the right, "Did he see all that?"

"Yeah, betcha he thought he was being all secret agent man or whatever, hiding in the shadows. He got a good look," Cleburne's voice said through the earpiece in Red's right ear, as he was the one who was playing the part of the disguised Luminaje demon. "I'd say he's good and wired by now, seeing things everywhere he looks."

Red half-smiled at that. "You're enjoying this a bit too much, Colonel. 'Course, I do have one question."

"What's that?"

Red looked into the sack. "What are we going to do with all these kittens?"

 **Demon HQ, Boston. Not long afterwards**

The Bhanrglish demon shoved open the door. The doctored rock candy had permeated his entire system now, and the smokes hadn't helped at all. "What the hell are you up to with the humans?" the evil thing shouted at the Luminaje demon, who was sitting at the table with the other demons.

Under normal circumstances, an explanation would have been given and the situation would not escalate beyond raised voices. However, what with the altered rock candy in both their bodies, this was not normal circumstances.

"None of your damn business!" was the reply as the Luminaje demon stood up, books scattering on the table in front of him.

"Like hell it is, you filthy Lumie! You're selling us out, I know you are!" He took a swing at the Luminaje. A punch was returned, and the two were instantly tussling. A vampire pulled them apart though, before blood could be spilled.

"What the hell is your problem? We have to find that burial site, not beat the snot out of each other!" The vampire present as Bathory's liaison and representative had had his fill of all the demon feuding, so he shoved the Bhanrglish towards the door. "Go on, get out of here until you cool off!"

The Bhanrglish thought about arguing with him for a second, then thought better of it. Even in his agitated state, he knew better than to argue with someone with the backing of the Bloody Countess of Hungary.

In the room where the Siberians were watching the show, Xander spoke into a cell phone. "The pigeon is airborne."

In an alley near the demons' stronghold, Cleburne was sitting in the front of the van being used by the Siberians. "Understood, we'll net him when he comes out."

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. Not long afterwards**

The Bhanrglish demon scowled as he looked around the small room. He yanked on the chain that kept him linked to the steel table, but to no avail. He was angry, and for good reason; he had been exiting the headquarters fuming when he had been shocked with a taser by someone in the alley. Next thing he knew, he was here in this room.

That had been over an hour ago. But suddenly the door leading into the room opened up and two men walked in. The demon snarled, "Damn humans, let me go!"

"No," the older of the two men said simply.

The demon rattled the chain. "When I get loose, I'll wrap this around your neck until your eyes bug out!"

"I like him. He thinks like you do, Mother Hen," Xander said. { And hopefully, we can use that to get the 411 outta him. }

Harris leaned back against the wall as Cleburne sat down in the chair opposite the demon. "Marvin mentioned that you get angry a lot."

"Marvin?" the demon demanded in confusion.

"Your Luminaje demon friend," Xander shrugged slightly. "No way we can pronounce his real name, y'know."

The demon frowned, falling victim to the Siberians' ploy. "Damn Lumie, he was the one who sold me out?!"

"No, you got pulled in because of what you were doing," Cleburne said truthfully, but in such a way that the Bhanrglish was sure that he was lying. "It was your own actions that put you in here, pal."

The Bhanrglish said with some more confusion, "Who are you?"

"Well, you could say that when the things in the night go bump, we're the ones who go bump right back," Xander said cheerfully, ignoring the glare Cleburne sent his way.

The Bhanrglish demon scowled at once, full of contemptuous disbelief after hearing that. "So what did the Lumie get? What did you pay him?"

Cleburne side-stepped the question. "We'll get to that. But first there are some other things we need to discuss. I mean, we can't have you running around Boston doing Lord knows what, scaring the civilians."

"What do I care about them?" the Bhanrglish snorted in contempt.

Xander just sighed, still leaning against the wall as the demon began ranting about many diverse topics, his freedom foremost amongst them. This was obviously going to be a *long* interrogation session.

 **Abandoned church, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

Brother Feodor silently crossed himself, as he continued restoring and reconsecrating the same church Spike had almost killed Angel within in order to cure Drusilla...almost four years ago now. Not that any holy ground truly existed within the vicinity of the Hellmouth, but this was supposed to be a house of God and, too, the Abbot preferred to stay under the radar for the moment.

It had been nearly two weeks since the events of 9/11, and even though things had hardly gone back to normal in the U.S. its borders had been opened once more and the monk had finally managed to make it to Sunnydale. It wasn't until he'd arrived though that Brother Feodor, despite everything Xander had told him about the old home town, had realized just what kind of place it was.

The all-pervasive evil here was thick enough you could almost cut it with a knife. Even though Sunnydale had changed from the demon and vampire Shangri-La it had been just a few short years ago, that hadn't stopped the California Hellmouth from spewing out its evil supernatural energy all over the place; and so, this town would never be free of the malignant types who naturally gravitated to the place like moths to a flame.

Brother Feodor wiped his brow for a moment, looking at his surroundings. After the fire which had nearly destroyed the place back in 1997, Mayor Wilkins and City Hall had put some effort into restoring the church. This was thanks to the Hellmouth vibe which had made people pray hard enough to warrant more churches than were already present. But the project had been shelved before it was even halfway complete, supposedly because of budget cuts but actually because Richard Wilkins had suddenly developed other priorities.

The monk quickly got back to work, sending his thanks to the Lord up above for this lesson in humility. It felt good to work with his own two hands again for a while, too, rebuilding one of his Maker's residences this way.

Almost as good as finally catching a glimpse of Dawn Summers at the local Sunnydale Mall, and marvelling at his own handiwork from over a year ago.

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. An hour later**

"DAMN YOU, HUMAN!" the Bhanrglish demon raged at one of his captors. He had grown livid and furious with being treated like a slave this way, unaware of the cosmic irony as Xander Harris just stared calmly at him. "RELEASE ME!"

The evil thing was subsequently even more infuriated when Xander just grinned and told him, "You forgot to say 'pretty please with sugar on top'. I mean, I heard on the grapevine that you guys like rock candy, right?"

The demon glared at Xander. "I can snap you in half like a toothpick. Want to see me do it?"

Xander laughed out loud. "So, no rock candy for you?"

Cleburne sat at the table, out of arm's reach of the demon, just to be safe. "Maybe if he behaves himself and tells us about the scheme."

"Ask your Lumie lackey!"

Cleburne sighed at the snarled reply. He looked up at Xander. "Kid, I'm getting too old for this. I don't have as much time as I used to."

"I can cure of the pain of aging."

Xander rolled his eyes at the demon's taunt. "Yeah, we get it, you're a big bad. I mean we know about your plan to attack that nursing home and elementary school. Nothing says being bad like the bodies of defenceless victims."

"What?" The demon straightened up in confusion. "I don't know what you're smoking, but I'm not that kind of demon-"

"Yeah, you're the cute and cuddly kind, love to play with kittens and all that," Cleburne replied.

"Well, you know what they do with kittens."

Cleburne grimaced at Xander's remark. "Yeah, what is it about kittens? That's just wrong."

"They're just cats. Food," the Bhanrglish snorted.

"Yeah, and those kids and old folks are just people you're going to kill," Xander shot back.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I wasn't planning to kill anyone at a-"

"Don't bother trying to deny it. We've got all the details. We know the plan. We know the places, times, the strength of your little bands and all the other little details," Cleburne tapped his fingers on a folder in front of him.

The Bhanrglish was annoyed enough to have lost all sense of judgement and discretion by this point. "Lies. Lies! You idiots, the Lumie lied to you-"

"What else would you be doing with the Lumie?" Cleburne asked.

"Looking for-" the demon caught himself just in time before blurting out the truth.

"Victims," Cleburne offered, after a few moments' silence. "You were looking for victims. You were gonna go out and scout your targets when we caught up with you."

The annoyance factor was steadily rising. "I already told you I wasn't planning to kill any old people or children! What are you, deaf?"

"Why should we believe you?" The demon glared at him, but Xander continued talking, "All we have to go on is your saying it's not so. You can deny it all you want, but until you give us a real explanation? We'll have to believe your friend Marvin."

"I'm no friend to a filthy Lumie!"

"And yet, he's here and you're the one going to Cuba."

"What?" The demon redirected his glare to Cleburne.

"Well, we can't let you go to run loose on the streets. We'll just have to ship you down to Guantanamo Bay."

"But you can't send me there! Your human courts won't allow it," the Bhanrglish couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Haven't you been following the news? Last week changed a lot of things," Cleburne snorted.

"What do I care?"

"The Patriot Act."

The Bhanrglish demon turned back to Xander who added, "In high school, you get taught about how Congress passes a law. Lots of times when a bill gets passed, though, a whole bunch of things gets added into the small print." 

Cleburne took up the conversation. "Even if people find it, most of the time it's written in such a way that they can't tell what it means."

"Yeah, it's amazing how lawyers can twist words around to mean things that no one would even suspect. Of course, a judge can figure it out, once the lawyers point it out to them. I'd imagine you know about that, though, what with so many lawyers being demons," Harris snorted, recalling old adventures with Wolfram & Hart.

The Bhanrglish frowned and looked at Xander, as he and Cleburne bounced their comments back and forth between each other. { What are these two up to? }

"You see, the lawyers were planning that act for a long time. We planned ahead, knowing that there were things that we could do while everyone else was distracted. Now the terrorists are clearly what everyone was expecting us to imprison with the Patriot Act, but hey, some of the language applies to HSTs."

"HSTs?" Harris asked.

"Hostile sub-terrestrials," Joshua replied.

Xander made a face. "You know, I never liked that phrase, it somehow seems...demeaning."

Cleburne sighed. "Wasn't my choice of words, kid."

"Well, whose was it?"

"You met her once."

"Who-?" Xander paused for a second when he realized he was talking about Dr. Maggie Walsh, "Oh. HER."

"Well, anyway," Cleburne turned back to the Bhanrglish demon, who yet again had been swinging his head back and forth to try to follow the conversation. "The law now applies to you, whatever you may happen to think to the contrary. So, your little plan is something which will get you a life sentence in a small prison cell in the Caribbean."

"I'm told that there's gonna be a trial and everything."

"Military tribunals, actually," Cleburne corrected Xander's interjection.

"Okay, military tribunals, the point is just because you're demon doesn't mean you'll escape justice from your little mass murder scheme. And you know what? You need a name like your good buddy Marvin, I'm getting tired of saying 'hey you'. I think I'll call you...Herman," Xander nodded to himself. "Bottom line, Herman, I hope for your sake you know a good lawyer if you don't want to spend the rest of your life in an eight by ten foot cage!"

'Herman' looked around in growing confusion and panic, this was not going the way he'd expected at all. "Look, I already told you! I wasn't going to kill anyone-"

"So what were you doing? Convince us not to lock you up and throw away the key," Xander said, this was what he and Cleburne had been playing a bad cop-worse cop game on the demon for. He suddenly glared and growled, "Last chance, Herman, and I *sincerely* advise you to stop dicking around with us!"

'Herman' paused for a second, figuring there wouldn't be any harm in telling the truth selectively. "We, uh, I've just been looking for a body."

"Making your own, don't you mean?" Cleburne wisecracked.

"No, a body that you humans caused, one of ours."

Xander nodded. "Go on." He noticed the demon's hesitation and added wrathfully, "I'll see to it your cellmate in Gitmo will love playing mommy and daddy with you after the lights go out, I swear!"

"And you'll end up hanging yourself within six months, if you don't get shot trying to escape first," Cleburne promised him. "Talk!"

'Herman' finally cracked. The paranoia from the lack of rock candy, the stress and threat potential finally loosened his lips despite what he knew the Ahluc demon would do to him if it ever learned the truth. "It was a true demon warrior, back when this country was still a colony of the British. Some preacher and the Slayer killed him."

"We know about that, so, what - you wanted to find the body so you can learn how he died?" Cleburne asked.

'Herman' shook his head. "No, we want to find the body so that we can revive him."

 **The next day**

Xander was sitting in the warehouse where the Siberians had set up their headquarters. He was watching the monitors showing the interior of the demons' headquarters, in their search for the true demon warrior's body. Next to him sat Cleburne, Smithers and Fletcher, all of whom were wearing headsets.

Since 'Herman' had told them what the demons were actually looking for, it had been decided that the organization had enough information that they could pull the plug on the whole operation. So they had been busy ever since last night, preparing to wrap things up. Now it was just down to watching the show.

Cleburne looked down at his watch. "Red, you and your team in place?"

"Roger that," came the answer over the headphone.

Cleburne nodded. "Go."

After a few seconds, the demons on the screen started looking and scurrying around. Several tried to flee the room, but they couldn't escape the armed soldiers who came rushing into the demon HQ. After a few seconds, the image showed some of the demons being rounded up by the soldiers, and others being shot and killed as they tried to fight back.

"Well, I'd say the floor show is concluded for the evening. The reviews will no doubt be published after a short period of time," Smithers commented.

Xander just frowned. Something about this whole thing just seemed to bug him a lot...

 **Abandoned warehouse, Boston. September 23, 2001**

The Ahluc demon sat in the same room that the Bhanrglish demon had been interrogated within the day before. As matter of fact, he was handcuffed to the very same table, having been abducted from his lair after a rather nasty blitzkrieg attack by the forces of STW.

He didn't say anything as the door opened, and Cleburne, Xander and Smithers walked in. The three of them stood on the other side of the table. The silence lasted for a couple of minutes.

"You do know that I don't have to blink more than one or twice an hour, I take it?" the Ahluc demon asked in smug superiority.

"Well, we can leave this room, can you do that?" Xander asked.

The demon grunted in amusement. "A temporary situation, you're humans and can't hold one of us for long."

"Oh, you'd be surprised just how long we can hold you for these days," Cleburne commented. "Of course, you can determine just how long you're surprised for." That was answered by a snort. Cleburne continued, "Let's not play games. We know you were looking for that demon warrior's corpse. We know you were planning on trying to resurrect him. I suspect it was because you were tired of us kicking your tails."

The demon suddenly shifted his focus and stared at Xander. "I know you!"

Xander smiled back at him. "Well, I do get around, but hafta admit - I've never seen your ugly face before."

The Ahluc demon smiled. "Regardless, I know who and what you are, human. You've been busy, I see. My employer will no doubt be interested."

"So, you're telling us you're not the brains of this operation?" Cleburne did not like where this was going, and wanted to steer the conversation back to ground he was comfortable on.

"Indeed. And kindly spare us all the theatrics, because you will learn nothing else from me. Wait, let me guess - it was one of my research teams, wasn't it? You managed to turn one of the demon fools who I assigned to look for the burial site. I suppose it serves me right, relying on scum like that," the Ahluc nodded to himself.

"You need a name," Xander said reflectively. "How about 'Todd'? 'Cause you don't look like a 'Herman' or a 'Marvin' to me," the former demon slave briefly smirked.

"You're the cause of all this, everything that's happened here is because of you. So how does it feel?" 'Todd' fired back, ignoring everyone except Xander now.

Xander crossed his arms. "Well, stopping the bad guy makes me feel all tingly, so I guess I feel pretty good. What's it to you, Todd?"

'Todd' just continued to smile as he also crossed his arms. "She's coming, and she knows all about you - Timetripper."

 **Elsewhere in the warehouse. A while later**

The Siberians hurried around, as preparations were made to leave the location they had used as a headquarters over the last few days. Xander and Oz were mostly just trying to stay out the way as the grunts packed up the machinery of the operation.

"He still won't talk?"

Cleburne had just walked in from the room where the Ahluc demon was being held, and looked up at Xander's question before he shook his head. "No, he's not said anything else ever since he started talking about 'her' and that she knew about you."

"Unnerving."

Cleburne and Harris both looked at Oz after his comment, and after a second Xander spoke up, "Yeah, that and it's also kinda scary. I don't like it that someone out there is a big fan, and she's turned out to be a stalker."

"The pitfalls of fame," groused Cleburne. "You may need to keep a lower profile for a little bit."

"I'm officially dead, Cleburne. How much lower profile can I get?" Xander demanded.

"Well, you have been seen on national TV lately," Oz answered.

"Okay, point. After we find the body, I'll avoid the cameras," Xander responded.

"We already have the body, actually."

"What?" Xander asked in response to Cleburne's comment.

"Remember when we had Gwen Raiden acquire certain papers from certain demon hunters from the 1930s?"

Xander thought for a second, that had been quite a few months ago after all. "Thunstone or something like that, right?"

Cleburne nodded. "Yeah, he went looking for the body. What's more, he found the location. The man didn't move it, but he put in place some wards so that it couldn't be disturbed; so, basically, all the bad guys' efforts were for nothing, right from the start." The Marine grinned, "Maybe we should tell our friends 'Herman' and 'Todd' that, I'd probably get a kick out of seeing the expressions on their faces."

"So now what?" Oz asked as Xander simply shook his head.

"Well, with the kid's stalker looking for the body, I don't want to risk the wards being the only thing preventing some kind of super-demon running around. Last time, it took the deaths of a Slayer and Lord knows how many good men to prevent it."

"We're gonna go get the body, then?"

Cleburne shook his head at Xander's question. "Already taken care of. Red took a team and recovered the merchandise a couple of hours ago, as soon as the mystics did their mojo to dissolve the wards. Right now, that dead demon is on a military transport headed straight to Warehouse 23."

"And him?" Xander nodded towards the interrogation room.

"Gitmo, at least for now. And depending on how stubborn he is, he may have to be moved elsewhere for us to get all those secrets out of his head."

 **The Summers gallery, Sunnydale, California. September 25, 2001**

Joyce Summers clicked on the icon on the computer screen as she updated the inventory records for the gallery. Shipping was getting back to normal after the disruptions surrounding 9/11, which was of course good for the gallery's bottom line.

She glanced at the clock on her desk. She did some quick calculations in her head. Satisfied with her estimates, the middle-aged mom picked up the phone and dialled a number. Joyce wanted to make this phone call at the office and not the house, where she might be overheard.

"Hello, I'd like to book a plane ticket to Philadelphia."

 **Somewhere in southern Mexico. The same time**

Baron Ivan Roja was not a happy vampire.

For the last two weeks, ever since leaving New York, it had just been one thing after another for him. His quest to learn everything there was to know about Alexander Harris and his friends had hit a few snags, especially in the face of Wolfram & Hart's plausibly deniable and carefully engineered obstruction. He supposed that it was understandable, given how they considered the miracle prophet to be their own private project, but it was also annoying.

Hopefully, they had learned their lesson after he'd feasted on a few of their bean counters in the City of Angels. But Baron Roja had eventually moved on after his sources had betrayed him to Angelus, or Angel as he preferred to go by nowadays.

The aristocratic European vampire had been sickened by the sight of the former legend, though. He could smell the soul within the Scourge of Europe, and witnessing him kill his own kind - for money, no less! - had made Ivan decide he'd not get anywhere in Los Angeles, especially after he'd also learned that Darla was likewise ensouled.

That was why he was now here, south of the border. Baron Roja had an appointment with the other half of the Gruesome Foursome, namely Spike and Drusilla.

"Oh look, 'tis the Red Baron," Dru's sing-song voice attracted Ivan's attention as she and her childe entered the room. "Whatever can he be here for?"

"Mistress Drusilla, you still look just as beautiful as you did when we last met," the older vampire took her hand and kissed it like an old-fashioned gentleman.

"Oy, that's enough o' that!" Spike cut in jealously, easily able to see how Drusilla was enjoying this demonstration of good manners. "Now what do you want? 'Cause last time we ran into you, mate, it was...what? 1894? '95? So why come looking for us now?"

"William. Still as...direct as ever, I see," the Hungarian vampire said with distaste. "Very well. I come seeking knowledge on behalf of the true Queen of the empire-"

"Oh, Satan's balls, not that bloody bitch Bathory!" Spike exploded in a sudden fury. He was in a bad mood thanks to this little blast from the past, and the fact that he and his girlfriend had been stuck in Mexico ever since September 11; it was too risky trying to enter the U.S. at the moment the usual vampire way. "Are you still following her around? Cut the bloody apron strings, mate, and stop acting as her effing puppet! Don't you have *any* self-respect anymore?"

"I come seeking knowledge of the human known as Alexander Harris, Mistress Drusilla," Baron Roja ignored the contemptuous look Spike was sending him, which only infuriated William the Bloody further. "I'm told you would have the information I seek."

"The wildcat?" Drusilla's expression instantly grew darker. "He's dangerous, he is, 'im and his pack. Be careful o' him, pet, 'cause he's the one who sees everything." She started swaying side to side, "He'll sprinkle your ashes to the four winds once he gets you in his sights, he will...just like what 'appened to your friends in Munich. The Bloody Countess will be so upset, poor thing..."

"Indeed? Then I will have to be most careful," Roja replied, slightly unnerved by this demonstration of Drusilla's otherworldly powers. "Do you happen to know where this so-called Timetripper is currently located, by any chance?"

"If she did, d'you think we'd sitting here right now instead of feasting on Droopy Boy's carcass?" Spike snarled. "Now push off, you damn git. We got things to do, besides answer your stupid bleeding questions!"

Baron Roja simply watched in silence as Spike stormed out of the room, dragging Drusilla along with him. { Hmm, yes. I suspect my queen will find all this rather...interesting. }

TBC...


	14. Chapter 14

**Part Fifty-Two**

 **Sunnydale Airport, Sunnydale, California. September 26, 2001**

Joyce Summers smiled as she watched her oldest daughter carry her luggage through the airport terminal. More than a few passers-by glanced in surprise at such a small woman carrying such a large suitcase. Well, never mind - there were some advantages to having the Slayer as a daughter, and this was one of them.

Behind her and Buffy, Dawn and Giles followed as the quartet made their way through the crowd. "Mom, why do you have go all the way to Philadelphia all by yourself?" Dawn wanted to know.

"Yeah. I could go with you, visit the Liberty Bell and all that historical stuff," Buffy suggested as they walked along. She didn't want her mom out of her sight, especially at this point in the nation's history.

Joyce just shook her head. "No dear, you have school."

"Then you should wait until I have a break from college!" the Chosen One retorted.

"The gallery in Philadelphia can't wait that long, and I'm not an invalid anymore, dear," Joyce tried to be grown-up and reasonable about this. "I've got out of state buyers lined up right now. If I can't close the deal soon, they'll go elsewhere. So I have to go there right now - in person," the middle-aged mom said firmly, heading off the comment that Buffy was about to say about doing business by phone. This was not a new conversation for Joyce with her daughters.

"Still mom, is this a good time to travel, what with everything that's been going on?" Dawn asked.

"I'd say it's alright. Honey, look at all the security," Joyce nodded towards two National Guardsmen walking up and down the concourse. "There are a lot of changes nowadays from just a few months ago."

"You promise you'll be back in three days?" Dawn asked.

Joyce nodded. "All my business will be done by then." She deliberately didn't add anything about all of her business not being just in Philadelphia.

"You take care, you understand?" Giles' concern was obvious in his accented voice.

"Of course, dear," Joyce smiled, and after a quick kiss she vanished through the connecting tunnel to the plane.

 **Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. The same time**

Xander rubbed his eyes. "Tell me again, why am I going over the organizational charts of al-Qaeda?"

"Part of being a Marine officer," Cleburne said from his desk, without looking up. Xander was sitting at another desk in the office with several files in front of him.

"But I thought you made me a Marine officer because of my skill in fighting vampires and spooks."

"We're not fighting the CIA," Cleburne typed a little on the computer keyboard he was working at. "Well, not right now, anyway - budget time is something else entirely."

Cleburne looked up and saw Xander's look of confusion. "Spooks, you said you fight spooks. It's a nickname everyone in the trade has for the CIA."

Xander sighed, it was times like this he suspected Cleburne would never truly understand the supernatural world. When he had said spooks he had *meant* spooks, as in ghosts and spirits. "Vampires, then. That's my thing, fighting vampires."

"Trust me, kid, you don't want to become a one-trick pony. Not only will it help keep you relatively sane by dealing with the human world once in a while, it'll also do you a lot of good to learn how to fight a new enemy." Cleburne went back to his computer. "After all, Chesty Puller learned how to fight the Japanese while fighting guerrillas in Central America."

"Who's Chesty Puller?"

The office turned silent at Xander's question. {He's gotta be kidding me, surely?} the older man thought to himself in disbelief.

Finally, Cleburne looked up and shook his head. "Kid, I know you've not had the benefit of a proper Marine Corps education, so I'll let that slide - this time, anyway. But in the meantime..." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a book. He tossed it over to Xander. "You have some more studying to do."

Xander looked at the title of the book. 'A History of the United States Marine Corps'. "You have got to be yanking my chain, right?"

"No, I'm not. Seriously, if you're gonna be a Marine you need to know the history of the Corps. This isn't a cover like the whole Rangers thing, and others might not be as forgiving of you as I am." He saw Xander expression and added, "Hey, if you think that's not your speed, I've got a lot of al-Qaeda documents captured in Afghanistan that need translating."

Harris was no fool, he knew when to pick his battles and this was not one of those times to argue with the good colonel. "No, no, this book is fine, but - why am I stuck in the office, anyway? I know we've got ops going on out in the field."

"Someone has made you, kid. Remember our Ahluc demon friend talking about 'her' knowing all about you? Until we get a line on who that 'her' is, I want you somewhere I feel safe having you. No demons here in the Gulag, after all."

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. A while later**

Cordelia finished writing on the message slip. Once she had finished, she placed it in the in-box tray for Angel.

Things were still a little tense here at Angel Investigations, just as they had been ever since the day that Cordelia had found out about Xander still being alive and that Lorne's reading of the guy had ended up with him having a vision of her being dead and buried in 2004. Needless to say, she was still having trouble dealing with that.

The others had been walking on pins and needles around her. They had been trying to be helpful without appearing to be overly-concerned, they really had. Well - Darla hadn't, she had just been her normal self. The others had been solicitous of Cordy, which made it hard for her to stay mad at them. Well, too mad at them anyway.

Of course, it had helped that her arm was kinda sore from throwing that phone book at Angel's head.

The young woman looked around the empty lobby, Darla was upstairs and the rest of the Fang Gang was out on a job. The Lost Boys had given them a tip that a group of vampires were acting as enforcers for a street gang, in exchange for free blood and what-not. So the good guys had gone out to put a stop to that.

The front doors to the lobby swung open and the gang walked in, Wesley limping. "It's done?" Miss Chase asked.

Angel looked at Cordy. "Yeah, no more vampire enforcers on the street, at least for tonight."

"Wes got hurt?'

Wesley looked embarrassed. "Well, there was a scuffle, and-and I tripped upon dispatching a vampire."

Cordy suppressed a laugh. Gunn spoke up, "Vampire still wound up dusty."

"Well, at least that's something," Cordelia remarked. "Messages are in the box."

She turned her back and then grabbed her forehead, screaming in pain. Behind her at the door, Gwen Raiden was also screaming. The others were scrambling to help the two of them, when Cordy blacked out.

The next thing she knew, she was looking up from the floor as Angel and Wes looked down at her. "What happened?"

"You screamed and then fainted. A vision, I take it?" Wes was the one who responded.

"Yeah. Demon with claws slashing at someone and there was a coin, couldn't really see more than that. I think something really wanted its change." The young woman was rubbing her forehead gingerly.

Angel suppressed a smile. If the brunette was still able to wisecrack, then it wasn't too bad. "Gwen had a vision too; she went down at the same time as you."

"You see anything like I did?" Cordelia asked the other woman present.

Gwen was standing nearby, with Gunn next to her. "No, it's weird. I got nothing, my message service didn't ring for this call." The thief didn't understand why she'd gotten the pain but no accompanying communication from the higher beings.

"Apparently this wasn't a party line call," Cordelia agreed. She sat up herself and rubbed her side. "Ow! Hold on, let me collect myself." She stood up uneasily. The former cheerleader made her way to the restroom, and splashed water on her face.

After a few seconds, she lifted up her shirt. "What the hell-?" Cordelia said in alarm, as she looked at the claw marks on her back.

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. September 27, 2001**

Willow clicked on the website. She looked at the new page that had been brought up, taking notes as she did so. {Huh, now that's interesting.}

The door to her dorm room opened up and Tara walked in. "Hey, sweetie."

Willow looked up. "Hey, honey. How was sociology class?"

"Uh, Professor Vondas was particularly long-winded today. He started going on and on about the dynamic interactions of various social groups." Tara walked up behind Willow and looked at the computer. "How about you, did you get your quantum physics paper done?" 

"Yeah, I did, although it took quite a bit of effort to get the thesis from that Dr. Hollins guy in Chicago. It took some reading for me to be able to understand him as well. And hey, that was five years ago, so I can't help but wonder what he's done since then."

Tara looked at Willow, her suspicions suddenly aroused. "And after that?"

"Did a little research online."

"Find anything out about Xander?" Tara raised an eyebrow at Willow's look. "Willow, you're taking notes while surfing paranormal sites. Normally, you'd do that at the Magic Box. That way, you can cross-reference with the books there, y'know?"

Willow sighed, knowing she was busted. "Yeah, well. Anya was bugging me again, asking questions about Xander; she really needs to get a life! I figure I can get more done here, cross-reference later."

Tara shrugged, it made sense. "What did you find?"

Willow tapped the notepad. "Not much. As far as I can tell, it looks like no one else has realized that was him getting off the plane. The timing with what happened at Disney World must have made people focus on that, instead of Xander's little performance in Baltimore. Oh, a-and a lot of people are wondering what else the Timetripper has told the government. Some of them are wondering if he's human or some kind of human-looking demon. "

Tara smiled. "Anya would love that. She's been going on and on about demon rights for the last few days."

"Well, she's not alone."

Tara frowned at Willow's statement. "What do you mean?"

"I found a few other websites, uh, well, demon chat rooms - I think. They're talking about Xander as well."

Tara looked worried, "You mean they're looking for him, they want to hurt him?"

Willow shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's like they think he can change things, they're looking *up* to him."

"For what?"

"I really don't know."

 **Somewhere in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A few hours later**

Joyce Summers cradled the phone on her shoulder, speaking to her youngest daughter in Sunnydale. "I know, dear, I know you could learn a lot here in Philadelphia. There are a lot of historical places here. The cab I took this morning took me right by Independence Hall."

She listened for a few seconds. "Maybe when Christmas break comes around you, Buffy and I can go on a trip. Honey, I have to go - I have to catch a cab. Yes, to the next meeting, the dealer has a lot of items I think I make a good profit on. I'll call you tonight to let you know how the meeting went. Bye, sweetie, you and your sister take care."

Joyce hung up. She had been telling the truth about having to catch a taxi. However, she wasn't going to a meeting with a dealer. She had a train to catch to Maryland.

 **141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Cordelia winced as she shifted on her couch. Angel and the others had started researching the vision ever since yesterday, looking particularly into the coin thing she'd glimpsed. She had decided to go back to her apartment afterwards; something about being clawed by a vision monster that wasn't actually there simply did not put her in the mood for bookworm duty.

A blanket moved from the table to her. "Thanks, Dennis," Cordelia said gratefully. {How did I ever manage to live without a ghost?}

There was a knock at the front door, and Cordy managed to get up and make her way there. She opened up to see Angel and Gunn standing outside. Cordelia stood aside silently as they entered.

Angel held up a coin. "Where did you get that?" Miss Chase asked, recognizing the item in question.

"Did some digging, there was this elderly couple down in Chinatown. We paid 'em a visit. Turns out they were actually demons passin' as humans. After a bit of a fight, we got the coin. Wes is back at the hotel doin' the book thing," Gunn answered.

"And this helps how?"

Angel answered Cordelia this time. "Well, we're hoping to figure out why the Powers sent that vision to you. It was a pretty bad one, after all."

"I've had worse."

"Don't give me that. I've never smelled on blood on you after a vision before."

Cordy sighed in annoyance. She should have known better than to try and hide something like that from the vampire. "It was just a scratch."

"No it wasn't, and Gwen said the same. And we both know that's not right," Angel replied obstinately. "From what I could smell, I know it was a lot more than 'just a scratch'. Do you still have the scarring?"

Cordy shook her head. "No, it was gone about an hour afterwards, even if it still hurts." She started scratching her forehead. "Speaking of hurting." Miss Chase screamed and grabbed her head. Angel and Gunn hurried to help as she fell to her knees.

After about thirty seconds, the mystically battered woman managed to straighten up. She motioned over to the coffee table and Dennis floated over a notepad with a pencil. Cordy quickly started scribbling on the notepad.

"Here, there's a key at this address. Go get the key. What?" Cordelia said as she saw the look on Angel and Gunn's faces.

She felt her face and gasped in horror. Her face was entirely covered in boils.

 **Bethesda Navy Hospital, Maryland. September 28, 2001**

Dr. Chalmers read the chart, making notations as he did so. As one of the doctors on call to the President himself, he took whatever opportunity he could to get caught up on the paperwork.

He looked up at the knocking on the door. "Come in!" A middle-aged blonde woman who looked familiar did so. Chalmers thought for a second, placing the face. "Mrs. Summers?"

"Dr. Chalmers. How are you today?"

Chalmers stood up and shook her hand. "I'm well, thank you. Uh, I hope you'll pardon me if it sounds like I'm being insulting, but - what are you doing here? Is everything all right? I normally don't have patients coming all the way across the country to visit me if everything is fine, so I have to ask - how are you doing?"

Joyce smiled politely. "I was in Philadelphia on a business trip. I caught the train here last night, because I have some things to take care of." She nodded at the other chair in the office. "May I?"

He nodded. "Of course, please - forgive my lack of manners." Joyce sat down and Chalmers followed a few seconds later. "Well, now. How exactly is your recovery coming along, I notice you're still using a cane?"

Joyce nodded. "I'm doing well, all things considered. Physical therapy is helping, most of the time I can get by without the cane - although I carry it with me, better safe than sorry." She lifted the cane up to hip level.

Chalmers smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Hopefully before too long, you won't need it at all."

"I know Xander Harris is alive," Joyce said abruptly, going for the whole shock factor to see just how deep the surgeon was involved in the conspiracy.

To her disappointment, Chalmers just looked confused. "I beg your pardon?"

The Summers woman adjusted her position a little. "Well, you may know him as Alexander Harris, or maybe something else entirely. In fact, you may have no idea at all who I'm talking about. However, I'm sure your roommate would know the person whom I'm talking about. You know, the person who originally sent you to Sunnydale?"

"Mrs. Summers?" Chalmers said. He was starting to feel concerned though, and it showed on his face. {Josh, you and your cloak and dagger antics, I don't need this right now!}

Joyce continued on, she was smart enough to know when she'd managed to make some in-roads into her goal and so she went on the attack. "Now, I'm not looking to cause trouble, well - not too much trouble anyway. I just want to know that that boy is all right, and that he's being treated well. From what I've heard, what with that whole kidnapping thing way back when, that might not be the case. Xander is someone I care about, Dr. Chalmers, there was a time it was as if he was a member of my family, the son I never had, almost. As a mother, I want to make sure that his needs are being taken care of. If I can't get that assurance, well."

"I, I don't know what to say," the doctor tried to stone-wall until he could figure out how to deal with this bombshell. {Cleburne, what have you gotten me involved in?!}

Joyce stood up and handed a folded piece of paper to Chalmers. "Here's my cell phone number. Have your roommate or whoever it is call me. And tell them I have proof of what I've been talking about. I'll wait a little while before I go to the papers about it, but not too long."

 **141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

The door to Cordy's apartment was opened by Gwen. Angel stood outside and said, "Where is she?"

"Bedroom."

"How are you?" Angel asked.

"Doing better, my original 'gift' has some advantages. Still sore, but I'm in better shape than her."

Angel nodded and walked by Miss Raiden, making his way to the bedroom. Cordelia was lying in the bed as Wesley stood nearby with a worried look. "What happened?" the vampire asked.

"Another vision," was Wesley's concerned reply. "She was thrown across the room and when we went to help, well. You can see for yourself what happened, although it is fading." Angel moved over to the bed and examined his seer.

Angel winced as he saw the burns on her face and arms. "That's it, no more cooking on an open stove for me," Cordy managed to feebly joke.

Angel handed a key over to Wesley. "This has gotta stop. Wes, what do we know?"

"Wolfram & Hart, Angel-cake." Angel turned around; he honestly hadn't noticed Lorne standing in the corner over there. "I did a reading and these visions aren't the real deal, their source is earth-bound; and the vibes I'm getting off of Cordy-kins here are coming straight from Demon Lawyers 'R Us. They're doing this to her, somehow."

Angel actually growled a little bit. "Lilah."

"Yeah, odds are," Gwen shrugged, wondering if she herself was going to be next on the hit list. It made sense, anyway; target and demoralise one seer before focusing your attention on the next one. Divide the enemy's attention and conquer while they're distracted. "So what do we do?"

"Start playing hard-ball," the vampire decided forcefully, before he grabbed the key and the coin and swept out of the apartment. It wouldn't be long before Angel would find himself in another dimension, to find something - or rather someone - that Lilah wanted.

 **National Art Gallery, Washington, D.C. September 29, 2001**

Joyce looked around somewhat nervously, finally having doubts about her chosen course of action and wondering what on earth she was doing here all alone, without even Buffy around for backup.

She shuffled her feet, as she stood in front of the painting of Washington crossing the Delaware during the Revolutionary war. As Joyce looked at the portrait, she hoped that she had as much luck today as the first President had had that night.

The middle-aged woman had no way of knowing that ever since Bert Chalmers had called his former roommate to tell him about Joyce's visit, things had been pretty much become a complete uproar within Siberian Trip Wire. Like Gwen had once said, the organization didn't like the belief that Xander Harris had died years ago being challenged by anyone, least of all the inhabitants of Sunnydale. Cleburne had started ranting and raving about it, but Mrs. Marcum had ordered him to calm down and focus on 'damage control'.

"How the hell do we do *that*, I ask you?" Joshua had yelled loudly at her over the phone.

"You're talented at these things, old friend," the black woman had said with impossible calm and serenity. "I'm sure you and your bunch of 'exiles' will come up with something." She had then hung up, but with a worried look on her face. If Cleburne *wasn't* able to come up with something, the STW team currently monitoring Joyce would most likely have to do something unpleasant.

{Where are they?} Joyce Summers thought fretfully to herself, checking her watch yet again. {That silly deep throat phone call said to be here at noon.}

"You know, the British burned the original painting."

Joyce turned around and there was Cleburne in a business suit, standing next to her. She gathered her wits quickly. "Excuse me?" 

"I know, the joke writes itself - British guys angry over the American Revolution turn around and burn one of the iconic images of said revolution. However, in all fairness to them, the painting was in a museum in Bremen Germany in 1942 when the RAF bombed the city. They weren't aiming at the painting, it just got burned up in the resulting fire. They didn't even know it was there, but it was war, back then was a different time. Total war, when whatever was needed to be done was done for the greater good, no matter what the cost."

This meeting had not started off the way she'd been hoping it would. "I take it you're Dr. Chalmers' roommate?"

"Yeah," Cleburne said, a definite tone of annoyance now showing up in his voice. "Thanks a lot for your little message to him, by the way. I got quite an earful from good ol' Bert yesterday, about getting him involved in something that he simply doesn't want to know about. After this meeting, if you could possibly get in touch to tell him everything's been resolved satisfactorily? I'd be much obliged."

"How do I know you're the one who can answer my questions about Xander?" Joyce asked, she didn't want to tip her hand about knowing the Marine colonel by sight just yet.

Cleburne nodded. "Fair enough question, that's why I brought along someone who can vouch for me."

"Hey, Mrs. Summers. Long time no see."

Joyce swung around, and became unbalanced enough to fall over. Oz quickly grabbed hold of her and managed to steady Joyce until the woman was balanced on her feet again, her cane coming in very useful. "Ought to be careful. That marble floor's not exactly soft down there."

Joyce frowned at the purple-haired young man, before recognition finally set in. She hadn't seen this particular werewolf musician for some years, after all. "Aren't you the boy who used to date Willow during high school? Um."

"Yeah. I'm Oz," Daniel nodded, monosyllabic as ever.

{Oh Lord, what a time for him to show up!} "I'm sorry, dear, but you see, this isn't really a good time. I'm meeting someone." Joyce trailed off rather lamely.

"I know." the werewolf remarked with his traditional calm, laid-back manner.

"What do you mean, you know?" Joyce demanded, confusion slowly starting to turn into suspicion in her heart.

"You're here about Xander. So am I," Oz told the woman rather cryptically.

"Young man, what exactly do you mean by that?" Joyce said in her strongest 'mom' voice.

"Way I hear it, you've really set the cat amongst the pigeons ever since yesterday," Oz told her. "Especially that thing about you having proof that Xander's alive."

Joyce began to back away slightly. "You're one of them, aren't you?!"

"Depends on who exactly you mean by 'them'," Joyce heard Cleburne say. She started doing the whole 'almost falling down' trick all over again. This time it was Cleburne who caught and steadied her. "Careful now, ma'am, Wolfie does have a point. That floor's pretty hard down there. I wouldn't want a lady to fall and break something, my mother brought me up better than that."

Joyce stepped away from the USMC officer and STW field director, trying to restore some semblance of dignity. The three of them stood silent for about a minute while patrons of the museum walked around them.

"Well, Mrs. Summers, what next?" Cleburne finally asked.

Joyce fidgeted for a second. "Uh, that depends." 

"On what?" Oz asked.

"On how this little conference progresses," the blonde woman said, looking around. "My goodness, but I almost feel like I'm in a spy movie - the public place, the crowds, the clandestine meeting."

"I got voted down on having this meeting at the townhouse." Oz said laconically.

"Wolfie." Cleburne growled at him. "All right, Mrs. Summers, let's hear it. You said you have proof that Xander Harris is alive. What proof are you talking about?"

"We'll get to that, mister." Joyce trailed off. "Who *are* you, anyway? According to my sources," Joyce caught herself in time, "you're a colonel of some sort?"

Cleburne wanted to grind his teeth together, wondering how on earth Joyce had learned that little tidbit. It didn't occur to him that the meeting he and Buffy and Willow had had in Lemke's bookstore way back when was the reason why this woman knew his rank, if not his name. "I could be, but my name isn't important, Mrs. Summers. I don't know how you know what you know yet, but I have to tell you - you already know way too much for your own good!"

"Very well, Colonel," Joyce said in an unfriendly tone. "What I want to know is, where's Xander?"

"I can't tell you that," Cleburne fired back. "Too much effort has been put into keeping the secret for you to wander in and upset this applecart."

"Why, you-!" Joyce looked incredibly annoyed at the veiled threat.

"I'm sensing hostility on both sides," Oz said noncommittally. "Ought to cut it out, it's not gonna help resolving the problem."

"Thank you Dr. Phil," Joshua grumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Look, Colonel-"

"No, *you* look," Cleburne interrupted. "Mrs. Summers, you've put everyone in a very difficult position, do you understand that? If it was anyone else, right now we would be having a whole different conversation, and a whole bunch of people on stand-by in California would be heading to Sunnydale to find that so-called 'proof' you've mentioned. You think I'm not serious? People only get to think that once!"

"It's true enough," Oz nodded, much to Joyce's concern. "The stakes are that high, and this guy has done a lot of bad things in his time."

"Things are done in the dark so that babies can sleep peacefully to the morning," Cleburne muttered.

"What?" Oz said.

"Something someone said to me a long time ago," Cleburne replied. He turned back to Joyce. "Mrs. Summers, you really have gone and hit the wasp's nest with a rock, and that gets a whole bunch of people riled up. People who can get away with doing very bad things to other people, in the name of national security."

"I see," Joyce now looked shaken to the core, the way amateurs did when they discovered just what the professionals were willing to do that they weren't. "Then how do you suggest we resolve this?"

"You really have got proof the kid's alive? Give it to me," Cleburne said in no uncertain terms.

"Uh, no, it's not that simple. Copies of our evidence have been made, and-and hidden throughout Sunnydale and maybe even elsewhere. I don't know where, I'm not the one who did it," Joyce said sheepishly.

Cleburne looked as if he wanted to bang his head against the wall. {Like they said in _The Thirty-Nine Steps_ , never underestimate the amateur.} "Wonderful. Then what do you suggest?"

"Can you prove to me that Xander's all right? That you people aren't mistreating him in any way?" Joyce asked hopefully.

"Is my word good enough?" Oz asked. "'Cause I saw him today, and he's fine. Well, complaining about the paperwork a lot, but otherwise he's okay."

{Paperwork? No, never mind.} Joyce let out a sigh of relief. "Well, thank goodness. We're all so worried about him back home, after all."

"Satisfied?"

Joyce looked at Cleburne in annoyance. "No. We're just getting started, as far as I'm concerned."

"You know, I get thirsty during negotiations. Maybe we should go to the food court," Oz shrugged as Joyce looked at him in confusion.

Cleburne nodded and starting walking away, then he paused for a second and looked back. "Well? Come on, negotiations take two to tango that way."

Joyce and Oz hurried behind him as they made their way through the museum, the conversation carrying on as they walked along. The negotiation continued as they got drinks and sat at table off to the side in the food court.

The conversation continued, with Joyce and Cleburne eventually reaching an agreement that he would keep Joyce, and *only* Joyce, informed as to what was going on with Xander in exchange for the Scooby gang's continuing silence. Cleburne also reiterated that Harris simply could not meet with the Sunnydale girls yet, despite how they felt about the matter, due to the mind-shattering headaches the guy would get right now.

That disappointed Joyce, but she hadn't really expected anything different. She was familiar with the whole 'screaming in agony' thing after all. She also agreed to try and slow down the Scoobies' attempts to find Xander, in exchange for Cleburne subtly trying to help along a reconciliation between Xander and the three girls he felt had utterly betrayed him so long ago.

"So we're agreed?" Cleburne felt as if he'd been through a tough negotiating session with the Committee, with regards to his organization's budget. "We all play nice, and everyone eventually gets what they want, right?"

"Yes, Colonel, I'd say so," Joyce nodded, before she checked her watch again. "Oh my! I'm going to have to hurry, I've got a train to catch back to Philadelphia." She stood up to get going.

"Joyce?"

The woman knew that male voice, there was a time she'd known it well. So for the first time in *years*, Joyce Summers turned and stood face to face with Alexander Lavelle Harris.

The middle-aged mom gaped at him in surprise. On an intellectual level, she knew that the guy had aged many years since the last time she had seen him, Buffy had explained about the time Xander had spent in a demon dimension. Still, subconsciously, she had been expecting to see that 17-year-old boy who had come over to her house and munched on cheesy chips whilst watching TV with his two best friends...

She *hadn't* been expecting to see a 25-year-old man with a terrible scar partly visible on his neck, his clothing hiding the rest of it. "Xander?"

Instantly Harris launched himself into her arms, grabbing the middle-aged woman tightly. Joyce started gasping for breath, the hug reminded her of when Buffy forgot her own strength. "Xander? Dear, please, I can't breathe!"

At once, Xander released her. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, sweetie, I'm fine," Joyce said as she stepped back to look at him properly. She didn't see Cleburne scowling at his protégé for showing up like this, which was probably just as well. "Oh my God, look at you! You're all grown up now." The woman trailed off, sensing something was wrong. "Xander? What is it?"

"It was all worth it," Harris said thickly, staring at Joyce like she was the Second Coming or something. "Four and a half years of hell, every single day of torture and pain was worth it - just for this one moment, all by itself."

"I, I don't understand-" Joyce said uncertainly.

"The last time I saw you, you were in the hospital morgue," Xander said with that thick tone of voice, his emotions turbulent and heaving. "You were *dead*, Mrs. S, I remember seeing your corpse. I remember attending your funeral. I remember grieving your loss with everyone. And yet here you are, alive. So like I said before, everything I ever went through was totally worth it, just to see your face one more time." He then gave Joyce another hug, startling the older woman - who had no idea what to say.

{ My God, but I'd almost forgotten, } Joyce thought to herself in shock as Xander let go. {All those things that he wrote in that letter, all those years ago; I'm supposed to be dead right now in the world he remembers, aren't I? That's why he can...speak...with...me.}

Finally, Buffy's mother pulled herself together. "Xander, would you-"

"If you want me to come with you to Sunnydale, then the answer is no," Xander interrupted her sharply, neither of them noting how Cleburne sighed in relief in the background. Xander's entire mood seemed to shift in a few seconds. "There is nothing there for me, not anymore."

"How can you say that?!" Joyce exclaimed, ignoring Oz's stare towards his friend. "You have people there who still love you, including-"

"Buffy? Willow?" Harris interrupted her again. "No, Joyce. See, you and they are in love with someone who doesn't exist anymore. I'm not that person any longer; I've seen and done too much ever since I came back from a hell world you couldn't even remotely imagine. In fact - some of the things that I've done in the past would probably make you despise me, if I told you all the ugly details."

Xander collected himself for a second and his mood shifted back. "Joyce, uh - sorry, Mrs. S?"

"Joyce is fine, dear," Joyce managed to croak out.

"Joyce, you have your whole life ahead of you now, a new path from before. You're with the people you love, and who love you. You've got extra time with them now, time you otherwise wouldn't have had. So go back to Sunnydale, and make that extra time last for as long as you can. If you're lucky, you might even live to see grandkids. Heck - you'll make a great grandmother too, if I'm any judge," Xander smiled, before he turned serious. "But one thing you have to understand; I won't be there to see it happen. There are simply too many people wanting to put me in a cage, or dissect my brain, or whatever. Like it or not, I'm on a different road to the old Scooby Gang now. And there is nothing you or anyone else can do to change that."

Joyce could only stare at this dark mirror of the boy she'd known. She tried to think of something to say in reply to that, but nothing really came to mind.

A moment later, a brunette woman walked up behind Harris. "Xander, come on, I want to see the Dawoud Bey collection. You'll love them!" she said with a Texan twang.

Xander smiled, as he put his hand on the small of Miss Burkle's back and gestured. "Joyce, this is Fred. Fred, this is Joyce Summers. She was the closest thing I had to a real mother back in high school."

Fred smiled widely. "Hi! I'm delighted to finally meet you, 'cause I've heard all the stories from Xander and Oz. Nothing but good things, too. Oh! I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to use my last name, so please don't think me rude or anything."

Joyce glanced over at Cleburne. "Your idea?"

Cleburne shrugged. "Hey, I'm amazed that these people actually listened to me at all. Those two, they're not even supposed to be here!" He glared at Xander and Fred.

"Xander wanted to be here," Fred said defensively.

"Oh, right, so don't listen to the guy whose job it is to keep the secret and keep you two safe. What - you thought to yourselves, let's go out in public to meet with someone who might spill the beans to the national media? Yeah, nothing could go wrong with that plan."

Fred didn't back down from Cleburne's comment. "You heard him, this person is practically his mother. How can you keep someone from their mother?"

"We'll talk about this later," Xander said sharply. Cleburne and Fred fell silent. "Joyce, I'm sorry but I need to go." He looked at Cleburne. "She needs a way to contact us if something happens."

Cleburne frowned and then sighed. "Fine, I'll take care of it."

Xander looked back at Joyce. "You take care, alright? Be very careful, especially in Sunnydale. I've lost too many people close to me, so I want to keep the ones I do save around as long as possible." He hugged Joyce one more time, before he stepped back and wiped his eyes once.

"G'bye, Mrs. Summers," Oz said his own farewells. He then turned and walked off with Fred and Xander, Joyce watching them all as they left.

"Well, I guess that's that," Cleburne said in a businesslike voice, as Joyce returned her attention to him. He stuck out his hand, and the blonde woman shook it rather dazedly. "I'll help you catch a cab, I know you have a train to catch." Joyce checked her watch absently, and noticed that she really did have to shake a leg to make it to the train station on time.

They started walking out of the food court. "He was the reason you knew about the terrorist attack in advance, wasn't he?" Joyce hazarded the question.

"Parts of it," Cleburne admitted. "Thing is, though, the bad guys changed their plans. Some things they did were different from what the kid lived through the first time around. Still, it could and would have been worse."

"It was that bad?"

"More than you can imagine, Mrs. Summers. Kid made a real difference to a whole lot of people." They then walked to the elevator in silence, Joyce wondering the whole time what on earth she was going to tell her family once she got back to Sunnydale.

 **A spillway somewhere in Los Angeles, California. September 30, 2001**

Two limousines and several SUVs were parked on the runway. Members of the tactical team from Wolfram & Hart were standing around, guarding them. Coming down the runway was a muscle car with the windows blackened. It stopped several yards away from the limousine.

Lilah got out of the limo and walked towards the muscle car, leaving the limo door open. "Hello Angel, so good to see you again. I hope you have our unjustly imprisoned friend with you?" the attorney asked politely.

Angel scowled as he got out of the car. "First things first." Wesley got out of the other side of the car, armed with a heavy-calibre pistol.

Lilah continued smiling in a sickeningly pleasant way. "Not very trusting tonight, are we? I'm hurt."

"Get over it. I've got what you want, now you give me what I want...or else the only thing you'll get back from that demon dimension is a corpse."

Lilah rolled her eyes. "Oh, very well." She looked back to the limo and nodded. A few minutes passed. She kept watching someone in the limo the whole time, and then she turned back to the ensouled vampire. "It's done. What, you still don't trust me?"

Angel took out a cell phone and started to dial. "Gunn, it's me. How is she?" He listened for a few seconds. "Put Cordelia on. Hello, Cordy? Are you better? Are you sure, no more boils or burns? Good, I'll see you in a little bit." He hung up the cell phone and nodded to Wesley.

Wesley opened the door. A man with a blanket wrapped around him stepped out and walked away from the muscle car, his hands bound with rope. One of the SWAT team members quickly escorted him to the second limo, which immediately took off.

Lilah smiled broadly. "Well, now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Angel reached into the car and pulled out a rebar. With a dramatic movement, he flung it overhand towards the first limo. Lilah barely ducked down in time, before she straightened up. "What the-?"

Angel gestured with his chin towards the limousine. Lilah turned around and gasped. A man with a fez wrapped around his head was slumped halfway out of the limo. The rebar was deeply embedded in his forehead, and it was obvious the vision hacker with an exposed brain was completely and thoroughly dead.

Lilah turned around and found Angel, in game face, standing almost face to face to her. The evil lawyer noted that despite being that close to him, she could feel no breath even as he grabbed her by the neck. {Uh-oh, this wasn't part of the game plan.}

"You pissed me off with this latest stunt," Angel rumbled, he wasn't in the best of moods right now. He had recently gotten into a terrible fight with a silver-skinned demon calling himself Skip, the jailer of the prisoner known as Billy Blim; who had just been handed over to Lilah and her associates. It certainly hadn't sat well with Angel that he'd had to beat up the self-declared servant of the Powers to free an evil human from a cube of fire, which according to his information had been a justly deserved punishment. "You should have known that I wouldn't like you and yours forcing me to jump through hoops like that, and hurting two of my people wasn't the smartest move either. I never liked threats when I was Angelus, and I like them even less with a soul."

"Just a minor temporary situation with Ms. Chase and Ms. Raiden," Lilah managed to gasp out. 

"You still don't get it, do you? You threaten one of us, you threaten all of us. And you can't do that without facing the consequences," Angel growled back. "I told you before, my crew is off-limits to your firm; don't you remember that conversation we had, back when you people tried to kidnap Connor? You try something like this again, I'll kill everybody at Wolfram & Hart - starting with you. And just so you know that I'm serious, here's a little reminder for you not to mess with me or mine again."

He tossed something into her chest with his free hand, a vial of liquid. Angel then turned around and walked back to the car, leaving Lilah standing there, the blood draining from her face. Then Ms. Morgan started to shriek in pain, as her skin started to itch and blaze from where the liquid had soaked through her clothes. Luckily for her, it would only leave a nasty but treatable burn mark and not permanently disfigure her beauty.

The tactical team members all raised their weapons to shoot at the vampire, but they never had a chance before Gwen felled them all with bolts of lightning blasting forth from her hands. She had been gotten out of the car to back up Wesley, who was aiming at the bad guys with his pistol. Once the lightning barrage stopped though he lowered the weapon, and got back into the muscle car along with his co-worker.

As Angel, Wesley and Gwen left the scene, Lilah seriously started to consider putting in for a transfer to another branch of the firm, *far* away from Los Angeles.

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Fifty-Three**

 **Seattle, Washington. October 2, 2001**

Far away from the Hellmouth, a young man opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. He bent down and picked up the envelopes that had been slid through the mail slot, and landed on the floor. As he stood up, he reached over to turn the light switch on.

There was no response.

"Damn it," the man muttered. He closed the door behind him and thought tiredly to himself, {Hopefully, I've still got that spare light bulb in the kitchen.}

The human started making his way through the pitch-black apartment, putting his hand out to feel his way. He felt something roll away from his touch. He reached out and grabbed it.

"What the hell?" the man said in confusion as he looked at the light bulb in his hand. Then he heard a growl.

He looked up and screamed, as something grabbed him.

 **Unknown heavenly dimension. October 3, 2001**

The creature that would one day be known as "Jasmine" frowned as she monitored what was happening within the City of Angels.

Ever since deciding who would have the 'honor' of being her mother after the miracle child was born, the fallen Power had known that she would have engineer the specific circumstances she needed after possessing the female vessel in the higher realms, and using her body to descend to the mortal plane. There had to be no risk of the vessel engaging in sexual relations with anyone before coupling with her so-called father.

This in turn meant finding something to use as an excuse to avoid any romantic entalgments, before she was ready to seduce Connor.

Jasmine suddenly smiled as she saw a fight take place between Charles Gunn and the man named Gio, right there within the street gang's headquarters. And then the troublemaking visitor from Miami tried to shoot the black gang leader - before Gunn killed him instead, and the Lost Boys dumped the body somewhere on the wrong side of Venice Boulevard where no one would ever find it. 

{This could have possibilities} Jasmine thought to herself idly. 

**Richmond, Virginia. October 4, 2001**

Xander cocked an eyebrow as he sat at the breakfast table. Across the table from him, Oz ate cereal, while Fred cooked some eggs on the stove.

"I'm just saying, that next time should go better. I've decreased the amount of power the rifle puts out, and I'm sure it's not gonna blow another hole in the roof! Well, at least not a big one," Ms. Burkle amended herself slightly.

"A hole in the roof is still a hole in the roof."

The three of them looked up as Cleburne walked into the kitchen. "Morning, all," the Marine colonel grunted.

"Morning, Cleburne. And hey, why are you complaining about Fred's rifle?" Xander stood up, clutching the weapon possessively. "Personally, I love this thing!"

"Kid, did it ever occur to you that that rifle is a health hazard?" Cleburne asked acerbically.

"All weapons are a health hazard," Oz commented sagely.

"And besides, didn't you yourself once say that 'there's no such thing as overkill'?" Xander asked with a smirk. "You also said something along the lines of having unlimited ammo, and having to reload. That's why I adore this baby," Xander held the heat blaster rifle up carefully, not wanting to blow another hole in the ceiling. "All you gotta do is change the spark plugs every once in a while, and hey presto, you'll never have worry about ammo clips again!"

"It's a little bit more complicated than that, I mean the heat capacitors need a lot of attention," Fred spoke up with a frown. "Still, I'll admit, it *is* a lot more low-maintenance than most of the weapons the organization uses."

The ulcer threatening to form in Joshua Cleburne's stomach distracted him from making an immediate reply. {What have I let myself in for with these three? Sometimes, I wish I'd never met any of 'em!} "I still have to replace that hole, people. Do you know how much it costs to get a construction crew on short notice?" he finally demanded.

"I do, actually," Xander nodded, as he put the rifle onto the couch and came back to the table.

"Well, you're not the one paying them, it's coming out of *my* pocket!" Cleburne poured himself a cup of coffee. "Look, Ms. Burkle, I'm not saying don't keep working on that thing. I'm just saying, work on it a specially designed lab. There's plenty of room in the basement I can have made into a laboratory for you, if you like. I know I'll have to spend some money on that, but I'm sure it'll pay for itself when I save on future repair bills."

"I'll help out, if you want," Xander volunteered, as he starting wolfing down his oatmeal.

Cleburne raised an eyebrow. "You know how to do construction work?"

Xander nodded. "From what I can remember of another life, yeah."

"And I'm finding out about this now, why? I could have had you working to earn your keep around here." Cleburne was interrupted by the sound of music, the Imperial March from Star Wars.

Oz pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Cleburne had finally agreed to Oz and Fred having some limited contact with their families. They had been given cell phone numbers and a post office box in Washington D.C. only, no physical addresses. That way, some secure communication could now take place.

After a few seconds, Oz spoke up, "It's my cousin, Jordy. He left me a voicemail message last night."

The werewolf punched in some numbers and listened for a few seconds. Oddly, his expression abruptly changed. "Something's up, guys."

 **High above West Africa. A short while later**

A spy satellite traveled in orbit around the world, the camera taking snapshots every few seconds and then sending them back to mission control.

Back on Earth, various experts began to examine and interpret the images received. They would soon forward their conclusions to various policymakers in the American government.

The photographs would, unknown to many people, would greatly affect quite a number of lives once the full impact of the images was figured out.

 **A private airfield, Los Angeles, California. October 5, 2001**

Xander blinked and shielded his eyes from the morning sun, as he stepped out of the Lear jet. The plane had not pulled all the way into the hangar yet, so the sunlight streamed across the door. He paused for a second before he started walking down the steps that had come out from the plane. Behind him, Oz and Fred started out of the plane as well which had ferried them from Richmond to Los Angeles.

"Mr. Howard, welcome back to the West Coast."

Several yards away, a Crown Victoria sat with FBI agent-slash-Siberian Malcolm Fletcher standing next to it. "Osborne, Ms. Burkle, good to see you again too. Cleburne gave me some details of what you're here for." he said to the Siberian 'exiles'.

"Well, then you may know more than we do," Xander asked. "All we have is a phone call."

"My cousin called, said there was something going on we needed to know." Oz said simply.

"That's all?" Fletcher asked in surprise.

"It was enough to get us to fly out here to find out more," Xander said. "After what happened with that little kid six months ago, none of us want to take the risk of another "diner's club" setting up shop in this city again."

"Yeah, and it was also a good reason for us to get out of Virginia for a while," Fred commented. "It's beautiful out here. I used to live in this city when I was a college student, y'know, and sometimes I miss it - and the library where I used to work at," she said wistfully, as the three of them walked to the car.

"Well, anyway, I've set up the safehouse for you. We can go there first if you want?" Fletcher offered.

Xander shook his head as he got into the car. "If you don't mind, Oz, I think we should go to your cousin's place and get started on this."

"Sounds good," Oz said as he closed the door and fastened his seat belt. The car quickly took off, and the Siberian Trip Wire security detail followed them close behind.

 **Los Angeles, California. A short while later**

"Oz?"

Oz looked up as the 11-year-old Jordy walked into the kitchen. "You came!" the little boy exclaimed happily.

"Sure did, squirt. And you knew I would, once your mom told me something was up." Oz nodded at his Aunt Maureen who was standing next to the stove. Xander, Fletcher and Fred were sitting at kitchen table with a quick breakfast waiting for them. "So, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure, I..." Jordy looked at his mother for reassurance.

She nodded back. "Go ahead, dear, tell Daniel what you told me. It's alright."

Jordy nodded. "Well, uh, I've been meeting with this group. You know, the one that helps with controlling your inner wolf?"

Xander and the others looked at Oz. He said, "It's a support group for those who get bitten, and can't cope with what they've become. They use various methods to control the beast. It's kind of like AA, only for lycanthropes."

"How many werewolves are there?" Fletcher asked.

"Myself, I think we'll be surprised. As I recall, Los Angeles attracts all kinds of characters. It's not just a Sunnydale thing," Xander quipped.

"Yeah, anyway, there were these new kids who showed up recently. Older, y'know, high school kids. They showed up at one meeting and afterwards they hung around with some of the kids I knew. They were talking about the thrill of the hunt and the inner beast. Lots of kids, particularly the older ones, they seemed to start digging it."

"The counselors know about that?" Fred asked.

"Anne found out about it. She wasn't happy, and the counselor who was running the class wasn't happy either, but you couldn't tell if you didn't know him," Jordy explained. "They were told to leave. They grumbled a lot, but still, eventually they left." The prepubescent child suddenly grabbed a donut from the table.

"And?" Oz prompted Jordy.

Jordy put the donut down. "Later on, I heard some of the older kids talking. They didn't think I was listening, but I was. They were talking about taking up an offer they'd gotten, from-from those kids who were kicked out of the group. Some thought it'd be cool but others didn't want to, I heard 'em say it was wrong."

"What kind of offer?" Xander wanted to know.

Jordy hesitated, recalling what it was like when he'd almost been eaten alive back in March and shivering for a moment. "They called it, uh, an 'all you can eat buffet'."

 **East Hills Teen Shelter, Los Angeles, California. Less than an hour later**

"Hello?" Xander knocked on the office door. "Anyone home?"

The blonde woman sitting at the desk looked up in surprise. Her eyes widened when she saw who was standing in the doorway. "Oz! Great to see you again," she said happily. She got up and hugged the werewolf, was who standing behind Xander.

"Who's your friend, ol' buddy?" Xander asked Oz. He had the strangest feeling that he knew her from somewhere.

Oz turned to the others. "This is Lily, Lily Steele."

"It's Anne now, actually," the blonde also once known as Chantarelle and Sister Sunshine corrected him. "I changed it a while ago. Just don't ask why," she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Right," Oz nodded. "Anyway, she runs the youth center here. I met her a while back when I was passing through Los Angeles. She knows about the things that go bump in the night." He turned back to Anne." This is Alex, Fred and Agent Fletcher."

Anne stared at Xander for a moment; she too had the strangest sense of déjà vu, that she had seen him before. Fortunately, neither of them could remember briefly glimpsing the other during the July of last year, outside the New Hope Family Shelter, as well as that ancient conversation in Sunnydale before Spike and Drusilla had killed Billy Fordham.

Putting aside her weird momentary feelings, Anne just raised an eyebrow. "Agent Fletcher?" She turned to Oz. "Oz, just what kind of crowd have you fallen in with?"

"One with lots of different people," Oz replied.

Anne smirked. "Well, at least they haven't changed you that much." She looked at Xander again for a few seconds. "I've met you before, haven't I?"

Xander almost gulped. "Well, I have that kind of face, so I get that a lot. In fact, I get that all the time!"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She looked back at Oz. "Do I want to ask further?"

"Not right now. We came about the werewolf support group."

Anne smiled. "Oh, right, that started after the last time you were here. I hoped that would help the werewolves I met who were hanging around this karaoke bar, Caritas?"

"Been there," Xander smirked. "How's Lorne doing these days?"

"Okay, or at least he was the last time I saw him," Anne shrugged. "Charles sees him more often than I do."

"Charles?" Fred asked.

Anne smiled again. "Charles Gunn, he's an old friend who used to hang out here a lot, before he started hanging with Cordelia and her friends more often."

"Cordelia?" Xander asked at once, his expression darkening. "Cordelia Chase? You know her?"

"Yes, of course I do," Anne frowned, thinking this guy seemed to know an awful lot of her acquaintances. "We don't see each other all that often ever since she got stuck into her job at Angel Investigations, but she's still a friend. Why, you know her too?"

"You could say that," Xander said thickly. {Geez, but it's a small world isn't it? I'm gonna have to be real careful here, not spill anything about who I really am.}

"Uh, maybe we could get back to the topic of werewolves?" Agent Fletcher asked mildly.

Anne smiled. "Sorry. Anyway, we have some kids here who are werewolves-" 

"Jordy's told me about the group meetings," Oz said.

"That's right, I'd almost forgotten - he *is* your cousin. He really is taking well to the group," Anne replied.

"He mentioned something about kids who were causing problems?" Xander said.

Anne frowned. "Well, there are those who aren't benefiting as much from what takes place here."

"They were causing trouble?"

"Talking a big game, the inner wolf and all that," Anne explained in response to Xander's question. She looked at Oz apologetically, "They were talking about, uh, Veruca."

Oz shrugged for a second. "It's alright."

"Veruca?" Fred asked.

"Female werewolf back in Sunnydale," Oz explained shortly.

Fred looked at Xander. He shook his head, silently telling her that explanations would come later. So Oz continued, "These troublemakers, were they small-time or was there a larger purpose to their behavior?"

"I don't know. I asked the regular members of the group, but they weren't keen to talk to me about it. After all, I'm not a werewolf," Anne shrugged.

"But I am," Oz said simply, already having decided on what to do next.

 **Monserrat Retirement Community, Los Angeles, California. October 6, 2001**

The old man named Marcus Roscoe walked out of the retirement home, having just switched bodies with Angel - and having no idea what sort of body he had acquired via his Algurian body-switching spell.

It had all started over a month ago, Marcus had had three heart attacks and figured there was nothing left to lose by trying an occult spell - one he'd learned about after 50 years as a traveling salesman. He had chosen his victims carefully from the health club across the street, using a pair of binoculars; but unfortunately, Marcus had recently chosen the wrong man to switch bodies with and kill after the spell ran its course.

The gym instructor known as Chuck, Cordelia's ex-boyfriend.

The Fang Gang had subsequently investigated the death, a grieving Miss Chase wanting to know how and *why* her ex had collapsed into pile of skin and goo after acting wild and then banging a couple of hookers at an exclusive hotel. Angel had subsequently noticed the retirement home with a perfect view of the gymnasium Chuck and three other dead guys had used, and gone to check it out; and the rest, as they say, was history.

"Ah, hello!"

Marcus-in-Angel turned around to see Cordelia behind the wheel of Angel's car. He walked over, chuckled and leaned on the top of the windshield. "Hell-o," the man said suggestively.

"So, what did you find at the old folks home?" Cordelia asked impatiently, missing out on the innuendo.

"Uh - nothing. Didn't pan out. How about you?" Marcus-in-Angel improvised nervously, immediately figuring that this woman knew the private detective whose body he'd stolen.

"I got nothing too. Damn it, Chuck's dead and we haven't gotten anywhere trying to find out what the hell happened!" the brunette woman fumed, she had talked to a lot of people today with zip to show for it.

{ Uh-oh,} Marcus-in-Angel thought warily. {This might be a problem.} "Pretty clear we're barking up the wrong tree around here, huh?" he said noncommittally.

After a beat, Cordelia nodded in defeat. "Yeah. Well, get in, I'll take you back to the hotel."

Misunderstanding the context of the remark, Marcus-in-Angel just grinned and got into the car. "All right! You and me - going back to the hotel. Nice, huh?"

"Are you feeling okay?" Cordelia asked in concern, as she drove off.

Still grinning, Marcus-in-Angel replied, "Oh, I've never been better."

Soon, they arrived and entered the lobby of the Hyperion. "Nice!" Marcus-in-Angel said, thinking he was going to score with Cordy before he went over to the counter and started hitting the bell. "Hello, anybody home?"

"Angel, what are you doing?" Cordelia asked in surprise, as the bell drew Wesley and Gwen out of the kitchen area.

"Oh...nothing. Slow night, huh?" Marcus-in-Angel again improvised quickly as he saw the new arrivals. "Hi."

"Angel. Did you learn anything at the health club?" Wesley asked, darting a look at Cordelia.

"Nah, total bust. So, what's shaking around here?" Marcus-in-Angel asked, as he finally saw the 'Angel Investigations' stationery and figured out that this was where the detective agency was based.

"Not a lot. Charles flaked on us again," Gwen said, rolling her eyes. She had no idea how the black man was still trying to come to grips with killing a man in public, even if he knew the Lost Boys would never rat him out to the cops.

"Yeah, he's been doing that a bit lately, huh?" Marcus-in-Angel ad-libbed glibly. Then his eyes went wide as he saw a very pregnant Darla come down the stairs. "Whoa! Hello..."

Darla took one look at Angel's body, and with undead super-speed she dashed forward and wrapped a hand around the male vampire's neck, lifting him up off the ground as Marcus-in-Angel started dangling and kicking his legs wildly. "Who are you?" she growled angrily.

"Darla, what are you doing?!" Cordelia demanded at once as Marcus-in-Angel gurgled, not knowing he didn't need to breathe. "Have you totally lost it? Let Angel go!"

"THIS isn't Angel," Darla grunted, before releasing Marcus-in-Angel. "Like I said, who are you?"

"Uh, Darla, I don't know what's gotten into you." Gwen started to say carefully.

"Wesley, Cordelia, Gwen - all of you, be quiet! If this is Angel, then there are things he should know which I'm willing to bet that he doesn't." Darla turned to the impostor and said, "Like, where and when did we first meet? What's the name of my unborn child? Who's Spike and Drusilla? The list could go on and on."

Marcus-in-Angel had already started to panic, and looked ready to make a mad dash for the front door. But Gwen, who had already stripped off her gloves, saw him tense up; and having become a true believer, she zapped the body thief before he could get away. Marcus-in-Angel collapsed into an unconscious heap at their feet.

"God, I love electricity sometimes," Gwen smirked at her fellow Angel Investigations employees.

 **Outside the Monserrat Retirement Community, Los Angeles, California. A while later**

Taking care to avoid the patrolling orderlies, the Fang Gang carefully snuck into the retirement home. They made their way to Marcus's room, after figuring out the situation with its view of the gym like Angel had done, and Wesley quickly noticed the small Algurian conjuring orb on a shrine as they entered.

"It's about time you people showed up!" Angel-in-Marcus complained, as everyone trooped in carrying the unconscious male vampire. "I've been locked up in here by the damn staff, I...ohhh," the guy suddenly started clutching his heart. "Wes, hurry up and get me back in my own body!"

"God, it's amazing," Gwen shook her head as she stared at Marcus's body. Then she turned to Darla as Cordy and Wes got busy, "So how did you know it wasn't him, straight off the bat?"

"Angelus and I were together for 150 years, and I've gotten to know Angel pretty well ever since those gypsies cursed him with a soul," the pregnant woman replied. "Cliché or otherwise, I could see it in his eyes."

By this time, Cordy and Wes had put Angel's unconscious body in a chair in the room. Angel-in-Marcus sat down on the chair across from Marcus-in-Angel as Wes handed him a piece of paper. "Read this."

"Alli permutat anima kimota. Alli permutat anima kimota," the old man chanted, his strength visibly flagging.

Angel's head came up as a blue light started to issue forth from Marcus's eyes and nose, a red one likewise coming from Angel. The blue light disappeared into Angel's mouth, while the red light entered Marcus the same way as soon as the blue light had vanished.

Marcus's and Angel's heads sagged onto their chests, but after a moment Angel's head snapped up. He looked up at everyone and said, "Guys? Hey, I'm back!"

"Welcome back," Wesley said, as Cordelia and Gwen untied him. "How do you feel?"

"It feels good to be me again," the male vampire said fervently, before he grabbed Darla into a hug. "Are you okay? Is Connor okay?"

"We're both fine,' Darla said with a smirk. "Thank you for asking."

"Hmm," Wesley said after spotting a shelf holding various pottery. "A Nothian herb jar? Rather exotic item, I have to say. This fellow certainly has an interesting collection, whatever his name is."

"It's Marcus. Marcus Roscoe," Angel said, as the old man finally woke up. "Wakey-wakey there, Marcus. How are you feeling?"

Marcus saw Angel holding Darla tightly and cursed him, "You - you don't deserve that body!"

"And *you* don't deserve to live," Cordelia suddenly growled, pulling a silver knife out and advancing forward.

"Cordelia? What are you *doing*?" Angel demanded in surprise, as he let go of Darla.

Cordy looked at him scornfully. "What do you *think* I'm gonna do? Hello, this guy is a serial killer! Wrinkly old senior citizen or not, Angel, he murdered Chuck with that body-switching mojo! It's just lucky you're a vampire, or you'd have been victim number five!"

"A vampire?" Marcus asked looking terrified, but no one was paying any attention to him.

"Princess, you can't just kill him in cold blood. That's crossing a line you can't ever come back from," Gwen warned her.

"She's right," Darla nodded. "Take it from someone who knows - on account of Angel and I have both killed more people than you've had decent meals."

"Cordelia? I just have one question, if I may - what do you think Xander Harris would say if he was here right now?" Wesley asked softly.

Miss Chase glared at him for that, when Marcus clutched at his chest and then keeled over onto the floor. Everyone rushed to examine him, but the vampires knew it was already too late; there was no longer any heartbeat emanating from the body.

"Let's just get out of here before someone finds us," Angel said firmly as he took the knife from Cordy's hands and ushered his crew out of the room.

 **East Hills Teen Shelter, Los Angeles, California. October 7, 2001**

Oz didn't look up as the werewolf teenagers started filing into the communal room for their regularly scheduled meeting. Oz sat in the middle of the circle of chairs, strumming a guitar. The teenagers milled around him, several looking around and one of them asking where the monk was.

One of boys walked up to Oz. "What are you doing?"

"Strumming. Helps with calming me down, and dealing with the beast."

Another of the teenagers walked up and smirked, "Yeah, and what do you know about that?"

"A lot more than you." The teenagers looked at the door where a young Asian woman stood. She nodded to him, "Oz."

Oz raised an eyebrow at the sight of a human-looking female Kaohsiung demon he knew well. "Jinan?"

"Good to see you again. How was your trip home?" she smiled at her former crush.

"Surprising at times," Oz commented laconically.

"And your friends?"

"Surprising too."

"Who *is* this guy?" one of the female teens demanded.

Jinan turned to the teenagers. "Oz, here? Well, he's been in the exact same place all of you currently are. He's a werewolf, and has been for nearly four years."

"No way," one of the teenagers whispered, as many of the werewolf cubs stared at the older lycanthrope in sudden amazement.

Oz looked at Jinan. "You help with the class?"

"I run it."

Oz raised an eyebrow. "I was told some monk was running it."

"You never heard of a female monk before?" Oz continued looking at Jinan. "Okay, okay, so I was sent by Shantou to help out. But what brings you here? Not that I'm complaining, but last I heard you had complete control of your inner wolf."

"Well, close enough. And Jordy mentioned there were troublemakers showing up from out of town."

Jinan walked closer to Oz. "Yeah, but they're gone now."

Oz turned his gaze to the teenagers. "I heard they left a forwarding address, though."

Jinan turned her attention to the teenagers also. "Well?" The teens started glancing at one another. She spoke again, "Well?"

"Uh, you see Jinan, it's like this..." one of the girls started stammering out and then hesitated.

The human-looking demoness folded her arms and looked at the girl. "Go on."

"Well, Jason and some of the others, they wanted to hear more. They met up with them a few nights ago." 

"So what happened?" Jinan prompted her.

"We don't know," a boy answered this time. "Jason and the others haven't been seen since."

"Well, not all of them," another boy spoke up.

"That needs explaining," Oz said emotionlessly, which was starting to make the younger teens nervous.

"Um, I saw Lauren last night, at a store down off Macarthur," the young man replied rather nervously.

Oz looked at Jinan. "Macarthur, huh? I think there's space in the van if you want to ride with us."

Jinan smiled. "Oh, yeah, I'm not going to miss this for anything."

 **Macarthur Street, Los Angeles, California. A while later**

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably in the van seat. "I know why we didn't bring the Crown Victoria, still I can-"

"The next word you're about to say had better not start with a 'w' and end with an 'ish'," Xander interrupted Fletcher warningly. "Believe me when I say you never want to speak that word aloud. Very bad things could happen. I know."

Fletcher held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, fine. That goes into the weird things that now form a part of my daily existence."

"There she is," Anne said from the front seat. She was nodding at a blonde with stringy hair who was leaving the store.

Xander leaned forward and looked over Oz's shoulder. "How do you want to handle this?"

Anne answered, "I suggest me, Jinan and Oz talk to her, if too many people approach her she'll run off."

Anne, Jinan and Oz got out of the van and went up to the girl as the others watched. Fred looked out the window, and said to Harris, "So Oz knows this Jinan girl from China?"

Xander nodded. "Guess so. Betcha there's a story there too."

Outside, Lauren saw Oz and the others approached her. "Anne, Jinan. What's up?"

Jinan spoke first. "We need to talk."

Lauren looked uneasy at once. "What's wrong? I've been coming to the group meetings-"

Anne managed to speak before Jinan. "But what about talking to people after the group meetings?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Jinan frowned, this girl was not a good liar. "Yes you do, we know you and Jason met with those troublemakers from out of town."

A look crossed Lauren's face, she was clearly having a fierce internal mental debate before she said, "Look, I haven't done anything wrong. I didn't buy into that whole thing, that's why I told them thanks but no thanks."

"You know what they're doing and where?" Oz said.

Lauren looked at Oz for the first time. "Who are you?"

"Someone who's getting impatient," was Oz's answer. He quickly showed her a glimpse of fangs and inhuman wolf eyes, and Lauren yelped and jumped back.

"Hey, I don't want any more trouble. Isn't it enough that I'm not involved?" the blonde girl looked from person to person.

"They were talking about letting the inner beast out and going on the hunt. That doesn't sound good news to me," Anne said. "In fact, it sounds like they're planning to get people killed or at least seriously hurt. You need to help us stop that."

Lauren looked panicked. "If I tell-!"

"What, they'll be mad? Are you really more afraid of them than of me? Of us?" Jinan nodded at Oz. "He's a lot scarier than me, Lauren. Trust me; I've seen Oz fight against entire hordes of demons in Tibet when he let his inner wolf out."

Oz raised an eyebrow at that. "It would be good to help us."

"But Jason said to not tell anyone," Lauren whined. "He's mean, and you can't be there to protect me 24/7!"

Anne spoke this time. "If he's willing to go that far, Lauren, then let me ask you this - how long before Jason turns on you? People like that, if they give in too much to the beast, eventually they eat everything around them."

"Sometimes, literally," Oz added.

Lauren looked from face to face again in desperation. Finally she took a deep breath. "I don't know much, Jason and three others signed up for whatever it is Veruca is selling. I don't know exactly what it is they're planning either."

"Then what do you know?" Oz asked. He wasn't showing it, but he was majorly off-balance at the mention of the dead female werewolf. He had killed her to save Willow; so Oz didn't know how she could possibly be here in Los Angeles now.

Well, assuming that no one had done any black magic resurrection rituals anyway...

"An address."

"Good, you can take us there," Jinan said.

"It's going to be a long drive."

"What do you mean?" Anne asked of Lauren.

"It's in Seattle."

 **Seattle, Washington. The next morning**

Fletcher and Xander approached the apartment door, Oz, Fred and Jinan following behind them. "Apartment 6H, here we go," Fletcher said.

"So what do you want to do?" Fred asked. "I mean, we can't just go up and knock on the front door, can we?"

Fletcher and Xander exchanged a look. Xander said, "Why not?" He walked up and knocked on the door. "Hello! Federal agents, open up."

"Xander..." Fred whispered.

"What? I mean I don't have a fancy badge like Fletcher here, but we get our paychecks from Uncle Sam don't we?"

"I don't have a badge, you know."

Xander looked at Fletcher. "What?"

"We don't carry badges like on TV and the movies, we have ID cards."

"But you're still Federal agents? I mean you're called G-men and everything?" Jinan asked.

"Yeah, Washington approved and everything." Fletcher nodded at the door. "Try again."

Xander knocked again and shouted, "Federal agents! Open the door!"

About a minute went by. Xander looked at Oz and asked, "Hear anything?"

Oz shook his head. "No."

Fred looked around. "Now what?"

"We go in?" Xander asked.

"Ah, remember that conversation we had a minute ago about being Federal agents? There is this thing called probable cause, and Federal agents need it to enter someone's residence," Malcolm explained.

Xander smiled at Fletcher and pointed, "She's not a Federal agent."

The others turned and looked at what he was pointing. Jinan stood there with a slight smile on her face.

A few moments later, the door flew inwards.

Xander and Fletcher looked in through the remains of the door. Xander looked backwards and remarked, "I was thinking something more along the lines of you could pick the lock."

Jinan stood behind him with the smile still on her face. "This was quicker."

The group made their way into the apartment and started looking around. Fletcher picked up some mail that was on the floor. "Tony Simmons," he read out loud. "Must be his apartment."

"Was," Oz gestured at the dried blood on the wall.

Xander came in from the kitchen. "Pizza boxes, lots of them and other fast food. Whoever did it was here for awhile, hung around and helped themselves."

"Teenagers, other than the blood - the apartment looks like what my place looks like after the nephew and his friends visit," Fletcher commented.

"Simmons wasn't a teenager," Fred said as she handed a picture of a man in a uniform to Fletcher.

"What kind of uniform is that?" Jinan asked. "It doesn't look like a police or military uniform." The others looked over Fletcher's shoulder.

"An ice cream vendor, maybe?" Xander asked.

Fred glanced at Xander. "What brought that on?"

"I once sold ice cream, they had me wear a less fancy version of that kind of uniform."

Oz raised an eyebrow, he was definitely doing that a lot lately. "Twinkies as well?"

Xander chuckled. "Nah, those were on the house."

"Cruise ship."

The others looked at Fletcher. "Two years ago, the wife and I went on an anniversary cruise. That's the kind of uniform they wore. He worked on a cruise ship."

"Okay, but why him? I mean, why did these guys choose his apartment to hide out? They were taking a risk that he would be missed," Fred commented.

"Maybe that was the point," Xander said slowly.

"I'm on it," Fletcher said as he pulled out his cell phone.

 **Local dockside, Seattle, Washington. Later that day**

The horn blew loud and clear across the quay. Xander and the others stood around the Crown Victoria and looked on, as the cruise ship pulled away from the dock.

"We're too late," Jinan said in obvious disappointment.

"Well, we'll just have to find another way to get on board," Xander commented.

 **Georgetown, Washington D.C. A few minutes later**

Cleburne cradled the phone on his shoulder. "You want to go on a cruise ship? Kid, if you want a vacation, just say so - I can arrange it."

He listened for a few minutes while he glanced at a form placed in front of him by Gunny. He glared for a few seconds, Gunny staring back and not even flinching. Cleburne shrugged and signed the form before saying, "Okay, but you checked out the apartment where whoever it was that's behind all this was hiding out, so what do you hope to find on the ship?"

Gunny picked up the paper and left the office. "Yeah, fine, they might know something, but can't you wait until the ship gets back? The full moon is still two nights away." Cleburne listened. "Really, the night before also changes people into werewolves? I did not know that." He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder. "Well, tell you what, there's a Coast Guard station near Seattle, head over there and I'll set up a helo to take you out to the ship."

Cleburne hung up the phone, and noticed that his second-in-command was back. In response to Gunny's look he said, "I just know that I'm going to regret not being there with 'em on this one."

 **Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. October 8, 2001**

Not long after midnight, the helicopter was hovering off the deck of the cruise ship. Xander, Oz, Fred, Jinan and Fletcher jumped out of the helicopter, alone; the usual security detail was absent for this one, there hadn't been enough room on the chopper and the passengers on board the ship would be sure to notice the presence of a goon squad anyway. Cleburne figured that help could get there quickly if things got...hairy, in more ways than one, and it might be worth giving Xander a chance to hone his leadership instincts out in the field.

A uniformed ship's officer hurried forward to meet the group as the helicopter rose up and flew off. "Welcome aboard the Northern Explorer! You got here just in time; we've got a bad weather front moving in, nothing will be able to fly in or out until tomorrow night at least. I'm First Officer Matt Leverigdis - please, follow me, and I'll take you to the captain."

The Siberians followed Leverigdis through the ship to the bridge, where a middle-aged gentleman was waiting for them. "I'm Captain Timmons. Now who are you people, and what are you doing aboard my ship?"

Fletcher showed his ID. "Agent Malcolm Fletcher, FBI. We're investigating the Simmons disappearance."

Timmons raised an eyebrow. "Disappearance? I got me no doubts he's just sleeping off a bender, man's always had a drinking problem. First time he's missed a cruise, granted, but not the first time he's drunk too much."

"Well, with everything going on, we're helping out local law enforcement with some investigations that might have a national security connection," Fletcher said easily.

"Simmons drinking has national security connections?" Captain Timmons asked skeptically.

"Cruise ships are a concern at the present time, well - all forms of transportation. The terrorists are looking for any way to hit us at the moment," Fletcher pointed out.

"Not sure what Simmons could do, then, he was second assistant purser. He just counted shipping containers," Timmons grunted.

"I thought this was a cruise ship?" Xander asked.

"We ship some freight up to Alaska now and then, helps with the profit margin. Containers don't want to be comp'ed for a bad floor show." The captain turned to the officer who had led them to the bridge. "Mr. Leverigdis, take care of this as quickly as you can - help these people out with their inquiries, and then resume your duties once they're satisfied. Me, I've got a ship to run."

A few minutes later the group was walking through the cargo hold, following Leverigdis as he spoke. "Well, it's not as much cargo as you might think from listening to the captain, just the odd container here and there."

"Simmons oversaw that?" Fred asked.

Leverigdis smiled at her, appreciating the brunette woman's good looks. "Well, he handled the paperwork and oversaw the packing. The personnel at the harbor do the actual loading and unloading."

"Who checks the containers?" Fletcher asked as they walked through the room.

"Simmons. He did a daily walk-through."

"But he's not here for this trip, so who's filling in for him now?" Xander asked.

"Crewman Veruca, would you like to meet him?"

Oz and Xander exchanged a look.

"Were Veruca and Simmons friends?" Fletcher asked, noting that look between the former Scoobies.

Leverigdis thought for a second. "I'm honestly not sure about that. Veruca is still pretty new to the ship; this is only his third cruise with us."

"His?" Oz asked at once.

Leverigdis looked surprised at the question. "Yeah, one of those kids who want to see the world. They sign on for a year or two, and then move on to whatever they do next."

"You have many of that type aboard?"

Leverigdis turned back to Fletcher. "Well, not as many as there used to be. Ever since September 11th, the new security policies put into place by the company has made it more difficult for them to get hired on. We had to turn several applicants down right before this cruise, oddly enough, because there wasn't sufficient time to do a background check on them and all."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Did they come with a recommendation?"

"Actually yes, Veruca recommended them. You want me to get him?"

Xander and Oz exchanged a second look before Xander replied, "Not just yet."

 **Elsewhere aboard the ship. Not long after dawn**

A young man in uniform walked along the main deck of the ship, nodding to passengers as he moved along.

"That's him," Leverigdis said, as he and the Siberians looked down from a window in a room on the foredeck of the ship.

"You've had no problems with him?" Fletcher asked.

A shake of the head was the response. "Hard worker, never caused any incidents while he's been part of the ship's company."

Xander looked at his friend. "Oz?"

"He's one of us," was the lycanthrope's brisk reply.

"One of us? One of who? What do you mean?" the ship's first officer looked around in confusion, but no one paid any attention to him.

"You sure?" Jinan asked.

"Yep," Oz nodded his head slowly.

Below them, Crewman Kevin Veruca looked up with a feral grin on his face.

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

Things were looking rather bad for the white hats, right at the moment.

If he'd had the time to think about it, Xander might have remembered something that had been scheduled to happen on the Hellmouth at roughly this time. Namely, a big ugly M'Fashnik demon that was out to kill the Slayer. When Xander had first thought about it, he had recalled the demon had been connected to the nerd trio. He had thought that the elimination of Warren would solve that problem.

Still the M'Fashnik demon had come to Sunnydale to make his name, and not being that bright, he figured taking on the Slayer was the way to do so. Since Buffy had no use for the whole 'secret identity' thing, it had managed to track her down at last.

He had arrived during breakfast. Giles had come over early to check in on Buffy, as Buffy had been depressed the last few days with the lack of progress. She had been in contact with Cordelia in Los Angeles. Cordy hadn't been able to make any progress with Angel and crew about how she could contact Xander. Willow's efforts, both magical and technological, had also been fruitless.

Joyce had been worried about Buffy and the others, and she couldn't tell the others about her meeting Xander in Washington. Joyce had also been distracted by the worsening financial situation faced by the Summers family, the downturn in business at the gallery since 9/11 had hurt and so had the recent plumbing problems at the house. She had asked Giles to talk to Buffy, not that Giles needed a reason to come over.

So it came to be that the Summers household was in the kitchen when they heard the front door rattling. Giles got up to see who was there and had gotten halfway down the hallway when the door was smashed down by the M'Fashnik. The demon came in, growling. "Where is the Slayer!?" it demanded, before backhanding Giles aside; he crashed again the banister of the stairs and collapsed unconscious. "Where is she?!" He advanced down the hallway.

Dawn screamed, as Joyce held her tight. The M'Fashnik looked at the Key in annoyance and said, "You're not the Slayer. But you'll do for a start." He advanced into the kitchen, not seeing Buffy behind the counter.

Buffy jumped over the kitchen counter to get at the demon, kicking it hard in the side. The M'Fashnik staggered back, as the Chosen One saw what had happened to the front door. "Oh, you are *so* gonna be paying the repair bill for that!" Joyce ushered Dawn out of the kitchen.

The demon got up, holding a piece of the table it had crashed into. The M'Fashnik looked at it, before tossing it aside disinterestedly. It smashed into a lamp on a side table, destroying it. "You have cost me, Slayer."

"I cost *you*? That was a designer lamp, ya mook!" Buffy yelled furiously, and then the fight was on.

Punch, block, kick, parry, Buffy was in the fight of her life as she and the demon crashed into various parts of the house. Finally the blonde Slayer yelled at Joyce and Dawn, "Open the basement door! We can't afford any more property damage up here!"

Dawn obeyed orders, and Buffy wrestled her opponent down the stairs. Miss Summers managed to grab the banister to break her fall, but the M'Fashnik landed with a splash; just like in that other world, the Summers family had tried to save money by fixing the plumbing themselves before water had sprayed everywhere and a full copper re-pipe was needed.

One that Tito the plumber had charged top dollar for, as he had never heard of anyone named Xander Harris.

"I will not miss again, Slayer!" the M'Fashnik growled as it got up from the basement floor still flooded ankle-deep with water. It looked up, grabbed a piece of pipe along the ceiling and broke it off.

"NO!" Buffy screamed in deep emotional pain, as water began spraying again from the broken pipe that she had just recently fixed. "No, no, no!" With everything that had been going on, she just snapped.

Later on, Buffy had no clear memory of how she did it. But as the mercenary tried to attack her with the pipe she grabbed it, kicked the demon in the groin and then hit him with the pipe. The M'Fashnik went down with a big splash.

Almost losing it completely Buffy began hitting the bad guy with the piece of pipe, one stroke for each word. "Full! Copper! Re-pipe! Full! Copper! Re-pipe!"

Finally she stopped. The demon was floating face-down in the water, obviously dead.

Buffy dropped the pipe into the water, looked up, and sighed. The young woman walked over to where the pipe attached to the ceiling was still emitting a steady trickle of water. She stared at it unhappily, wondering how on earth her family was going to pay for this latest fiasco.

"Buffy? Are you okay?!" Dawn's worried voice came from upstairs.

{ Oh my God - mom! And Giles! } Miss Summers dragged her waterlogged body up the stairs to find her mother and little sister attending to Giles. "Is he okay?"

"He's still out cold, but that's nothing new," Dawn replied, momentarily gazing at the British man. "Mom?" the brunette girl looked at Joyce. "Are you okay?"

The middle-aged woman managed to bite back a curse as the pain hit her. "Yes, but I think I'm going to be using that cane for a while longer now than I'd anticipated, dear, I think I pulled something during the trouble," she managed to get out as calmly as possible. "Rupert?!"

"Oh, bloody hell - not again," Giles muttered, feeling the lump on his head after he woke up. "One of these days, I really *am* going to wake up in a bleeding coma."

"Excuse me," a strange, accented voice said as Brother Feodor stood at the empty doorway, and all four inhabitants of the house turned to stare at the abbot of the Order of Dagon, the man who had turned the Key into Dawn last year. "But have I come at a bad time?"

 **The Northern Explorer, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. A while later**

"So we know he's up to something," Fred commented. She, Xander and the others were seated around a table in one of the ship's lounges.

"I'd say that's a pretty safe assumption," Fletcher said. "They've maneuvered it so Veruca had oversight of the cargo. They clearly wanted to smuggle something on board. However, why would werewolves go to all that trouble?"

Jinan took a sip from the tea she had ordered. "This is quite good. And smuggling is something for which you do not need experience in the supernatural, from what I've heard; indeed, sometimes it's to your benefit if you don't."

"Still, why go and recruit teenage werewolves as part of the scheme? Somehow, I don't think they would have the mental stability to be effective long-term criminals," Fletcher said.

"Well, on at least three nights out of the month," Oz said laconically.

"Which is coming up tomorrow night, so whatever they're up to it's going to happen soon." Fred stood up and asked, "Does anyone want anything from the buffet?"

Something clicked in Xander's mind, as he turned to look at where Fred was heading. {Wait a minute.}

Oz noticed the look on Xander's face. "What?"

"All you can eat buffet," Xander said.

"Yeah," Fred said as she turned around. "It's part of the cruise ship package. The passengers sure seem to like it."

Xander shook his head. "No, Fred - I mean, it's so simple, why didn't we see it before? The werewolves aren't here for the all you can eat buffet - as far as they're concerned, the *passengers* are the all you can eat buffet!"

 **A short while later**

Xander hung up the phone in disgust. "Cleburne says the weather's preventing any reinforcements from getting to us any time soon. He's contacted the Coast Guard, but the closest ship can't get here until tomorrow night at the earliest."

"Well, that's cutting it awful close, maybe we can get the captain to change course to meet the Coast Guard early?" Fred said. "What?" She had noticed the look Oz and Xander exchanged.

"Werewolves. They change the night before the full moon, as well as during and the night after," Oz explained.

"You mean-?" Fred had a dawning look of horror on her face.

Xander nodded in response to Fred's question. "Tonight's the night for the main course."

Everyone exchanged a look. "Well, I have three clips of ammo; luckily I made a point of getting silver bullets when I figured out we might be going up against werewolves," Fletcher said.

Oz frowned at that. "Technically, they're just kids. Can't exactly do an imitation of the OK Corral here."

"Also, I kinda doubt they'll all gather together in one place and remain stationary targets," Xander commented. "They'll probably be spread all throughout the ship after the sun goes down. We also don't know how many there are. We know about the group in Los Angeles, yeah, but who's to say there aren't others? This Veruca character could have been recruiting from all over the place."

"So we're facing an enemy who we don't know the numbers and location of, while at the same time not wanting to hurt them too much?" Jinan asked. She looked at Oz. "Here in the United States, you really do believe in making things easy."

"It's a comfort thing," Oz replied.

"Okay, if blasting away at them like Wyatt Earp isn't an option, then what do we do? Tell the captain everyone has to abandon ship?" Fletcher asked.

"No, the werewolves would blend in with the passengers and only cause problems later. And that's if we could convince Timmons to go along with something like that," Xander said. "Which, having met the man, I kinda doubt. At least not without a lot of hard evidence about the supernatural."

"Somehow, he didn't strike me as someone who'd believe in werewolves," Fred said philosophically.

"So, we're on our own for the night, at least until we have werewolves running around on deck."

"And yet somehow, I think the Cruise Director would have a problem with that," Oz said in response to Xander's comment.

Fred frowned. "Wait a minute. They went to an awful lot of trouble to get Veruca overseeing that cargo hold."

"Yes," Xander agreed. He knew that look, Fred was thinking hard and it was going somewhere.

"Also, this cruise ship doesn't strike me as the kind of place where a group of teenagers waiting to go on a killing spree would go unnoticed. I mean, they probably couldn't pay the cost of a ticket - or at least not the majority of them."

Fletcher nodded. "Okay, so they're stowaways."

"But, but where do they hide until it's feeding time? The ship's crew would notice them, right? There's not really any place on a ship this small that isn't monitored by the crew."

"But, one of the crew is one of them," Jinan said.

"The same crewman who's currently responsible for supervising the cargo hold, because Mr. Simmons recently met his untimely end."

"And he's not going to say anything to anyone about what's in the cargo hold," Fletcher completed Fred's thought. "Especially if his fellow werewolves are hiding in the shipping containers."

"It wouldn't exactly be comfortable for them. Hardly what you'd call an ideal hiding place," Xander said, playing devil's advocate.

"When I was with the Baltimore FBI field office, there was a case once where women were smuggled into the country in shipping containers to be used as prostitutes and slave labor. Somehow, they stayed in those containers for weeks on end," Fletcher explained.

"So a day or two should be doable," Oz said.

"And then they come out to eat when the moon rises," Xander said. "All right, so we know where they are - what do we do about them?"

"How long do we have?"

"About four hours," Fred answered Fletcher's question.

"So whatever we do, we have to do it quickly."

Xander nodded at Jinan's comment. "And in such a way that the crew helps out and doesn't lock us up as candidates for the psycho ward." He instinctively turned to the female genius of the group. "Fred? You got any ideas?"

The Texan woman looked thoughtful for a second then stood up. "Yes, but I need to get some information - come on, let's go!"

 **Elsewhere on the Northern Explorer. A few minutes later**

"Here you go," Leverigdis said as he unfurled some blueprints. "See, the cargo hold is compartmentalized and watertight. And if for some reason we do start taking in water there, then we can seal it off from the rest of the ship."

"And nothing can get out, like beat its way out?" Fred asked as she looked over the blueprints.

"Solid steel doors, Ms. Burkle, it would take a jackhammer to get through them."

Fred, Oz and Xander exchanged looks amongst themselves as they leaned over the blueprints. "You sure about that, it'll hold?" Xander asked.

Leverigdis looked confused. "Of course, the cargo hold is an important area; they're intentionally built sturdy."

Xander straightened up from the table. "Alright, then I think we have the basis of a plan."

The ship's first officer looked at the exiles. "What's going on?"

Xander exhaled, hoping like heck that the cover story the group had come up with would hold up under close scrutiny.

 **The ship's bridge. A few minutes later**

"Wolves?" Captain Timmons asked incredulously. "On *my* ship?"

Fletcher nodded. The exiles had decided to let him do the talking, since he was the oldest as well as the official representative of the United States government. The hope was that the cover story might sound more plausible if it came from him.

"Yes, sir, from what we can gather they were stolen from a laboratory in Oregon. The lab was conducting some kind of genetic research on them, enhancing their aggressiveness amongst other things. There was even talk of potential military applications, using them as weapons where the army didn't want to risk its soldiers - that sort of thing. Unfortunately, an animal liberation splinter group broke into the lab and stole the wolves. The plan was to smuggle them to Alaska to release them into the wild, and uh, your Crewman Veruca is secretly part of the plan. Part of the group who 'liberated' the animals."

"So then, why kill Simmons?" Leverigdis asked, still finding it hard to believe the criminal accusations being leveled against one of his people like this.

"Simple," said Xander with a hard look on his face. "Veruca would end up in control of the cargo hold. In other words, he can watch over the wolves without any fuss. Remember those teenagers you told us about who applied for work aboard this ship? They were supposed to be here as well, to help take care of the wolves whenever he was on duty."

"All right, assuming for the sake of argument that all this isn't a pile of horse manure. Why all the worry? I mean Veruca will keep them in their cages or whatever until we get to Alaska, right?" Timmons demanded.

Fletcher shook his head. "Veruca is actually part of a radical offshoot of the splinter group, Captain. They want to go beyond just rescuing the animals. They want to punish humans for acts of cruelty carried out against animals."

"Punish how?"

Fletcher kept looking at Captain Timmons as he answered the question. "Well, it turns out that one of the corporate managers who approved the experiments is a passenger, here on this ship. We think the plan is to let all the wolves loose amongst the passengers, see how much *they* enjoy being part of an all you can eat buffet."

"On my ship?" Timmons asked again, eyes wide.

"Certainly makes a statement, you have to admit," Oz said tersely.

"These animal rights people would actually do something like that?" Leverigdis asked, looking ill.

"Up until last month, animal rights terrorist organizations were officially the primary domestic terrorist concern of the Bureau," Fletcher explained.

"Odds are they want to get back to number one on the top ten terrorist hit list," Xander added. "Matter of pride as well as logistics."

{Unbelievable} the captain shook his head. "So what do we do?" Timmons asked.

 **Not far from the cargo hold. Many hours later**

Fletcher and Xander hurried down the corridor, acutely aware of the passing afternoon hours. "How long till sundown?" Xander asked into his STW radio.

"Ninety minutes, so I'd say time's up," was the answer Fred gave over the radio. "We don't want to wait until the last minute because they'll probably scatter before then, to maximize their hunting ground."

"So basically, we're playing chicken with a herd of werewolves?"

"Yep," Fred said to Xander's question as he and Fletcher went through a doorway into another corridor, this one greyer and more utilitarian than the others, closing the door as they did so. They came to the bulkhead leading to the cargo bay.

"Here we are," Xander said simply.

Fletcher looked around. "Not that I don't think it's a bad idea to lock them up. Still, what are we going to do when morning comes? Tomorrow they'll have their wits about them again, and may figure a way out."

"One crisis at a time, pal," Xander said curtly. Then he said into the radio, "We're in position, Fred."

"Good, Mr. Leverigdis is on his way."

Xander nodded at Fred's report. "I've been thinking, Fred, how do we know Veruca isn't the only werewolf amongst the crew? For all we know Leverigdis could be one, or maybe even the captain himself!"

"Oz, he says he isn't getting the werewolf vibe off of them, or any of the others in the crew."

Fletcher pressed the earpiece into his ear. "He can tell?"

"He says those monks in Tibet taught him how."

"Yeesh. If only I knew at Quantico what I know now," Fletcher muttered. He looked up as Leverigdis came running down the hallway followed by three crewmen. The crewmen were carrying chains and padlocks.

"Here you go, we found as much of them as we could. Still, is all this really necessary?" the first officer asked.

"Oh yeah, these things are different, lot stronger than your average wolf. We can't take any chances," Xander said firmly. "And just so you know, it's probably going to get a little freaky."

Leverigdis looked up from overseeing the crewmen putting the chains on the door into the cargo hold. "Freaky?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Fletcher said, shaking his head.

"In addition to enhancing their aggressiveness, there were other changes made."

Leverigdis looked at Xander. "Other changes?"

"This is all classified and everything, okay? But as part of their enhancements, these wolves were engineered to employ certain tricks while they hunt. This included modifying their throats and larynxes so they can mimic certain sounds."

"Such as?"

"Human voices, believe it or not; they were taught to make noises that sound like humans calling for help. Apparently, it was intended to draw their targets to them," Xander said, marveling for a moment at how easily the lies were coming out of his mouth.

"Just what the hell are these wolves of yours?" Leverigdis demanded in disbelief.

"Bottom line, they're killing machines without any remorse. Something you need to stay away from," Xander reached down and keyed the radio he had. "Okay, we're secure here."

"Problem," Oz's voice said over the radio.

Fred answered him. "Go on."

"Jinan and I went to trail Veruca. He's gone."

Xander and Fletcher exchanged a look. "He could be inside?" Fletcher nodded to the cargo hold.

"Who? " Leverigdis said.

"Veruca," Xander said.

"No, no, he's not. I saw him in the corridor as we were coming here," one of the crewmen said. "He was headed down here, but I told him we had it covered."

"You did what?!" Leverigdis glared at the crewman, who visibly wilted.

"Damn it. That means he knows we're onto him," Xander said in annoyance.

 **Elsewhere aboard the ship. Half an hour later**

Xander quickly jogged up to Oz and Jinan. "Fletcher is watching the cargo hold. I'd say the only one we have to worry about right now is Veruca."

Oz glanced at his watch. "It's about an hour before sunset."

"Do you think Veruca can control the wolf the way you can?" Xander said.

Oz shook his head. "Shantou never mentioned him to me."

"Or me. And if he was willing to do something like this, he's most likely completely surrendered to the beast," Jinan speculated. "He probably likes the idea being the only wolf on the hunt tonight."

"Will he try to free the others?"

Oz thought for a second about Xander's question. "Depends on how much he gives in to his werewolf impulses."

"What would you do?"

"Well, not eat the passengers."

"A good idea if I ever heard one," Fred said over the radio.

"Okay, assuming you want to eat them, what would you do?" Xander said, trying to be patient.

"Depends on how much control is retained. If I was him, I'd think the more wolves were running loose, the more problems there will be for the crew."

Jinan nodded. "So he starts out by freeing the others?"

Oz thought for a second. "Problem is it's too obvious, the cargo hold will be well guarded. If the passengers are attacked first, the chaos might work to his advantage. At some point he could circle back and open up the cargo hold."

Xander keyed up the radio again. "Okay, Fred, you're in the room with all the monitors, do you see any large groups of passengers hanging around that look like something our perp will take an interest in?"

A few seconds passed before she replied, "I don't see anything that immediately jumps out." 

Jinan looked at the wall behind Xander and Oz. "Maybe not now, but I think I know where he'll be in an hour." She pointed at the wall.

Xander and Oz turned around and saw the listing of the ship's social events on display on the wall. The first event listed blared out in big letters, "COME SEE THE SUNSET WITH US ON DECK."

 **Security center not far away from the bridge. A while later**

Fred looked from monitor to monitor as she sat alone in the ship's security center, not far away from the bridge. "Nothing, guys, I don't see him anywhere."

"Well, he's got to be around here somewhere," Xander said in response. "I don't think he's the type to just run away when things get a little tough, anyhow."

"He'll want to be close by when the change occurs," Oz added. "Otherwise, his prey might scatter too much for his taste."

"We'll keep looking. Jinan, anything on your end?"

"An awful lot of passengers, but no Veruca," she said in response to Xander's question.

"Damn it," Harris cursed. "Fred?"

Fred keyed her microphone. "Fletcher's still babysitting the cargo hold, and the cameras have all the corridors leading to it covered. If he tries to free the others, they'll spot Veruca coming a mile away. The crew is also keeping an eye out for the guy, they've all been told enough to know what to do now."

Xander nodded as he made his way through the various passengers that had come to the lounge to watch the sunset. Harris had to admit that it was a nice sight, despite the bad weather, and he privately wished he had more time to enjoy it. However, the threat of a rampaging werewolf demanded one's attention, especially if you were the one in charge of stopping him.

"Guys, I've got him!" Fred said excitedly. "Xan, about twenty feet from you in a service corridor. I just saw him going in, he must be getting ready for the big event. From there, he can burst out on the passengers!"

"Which way?" Xander said

"Towards the stern." Xander looked around in confusion. "The rear of the ship!" Fred explained hurriedly.

Xander immediately started walking in that direction. "Oz, Jinan?"

"We're on our way," was Oz's reply.

Xander stepped around a pair of children playing as their parents took a picture of the setting sun. For a moment he was reminded of sixth grade in Sunnydale, when he and Willow had played like that, but he quickly shook it off. This was no time to think about the past.

Right now, the strategist within Xander's mind wasn't happy about the current circumstances. Technically, this wasn't the way an op should be run, with his forces split up and vulnerable. If Veruca had a hidden ace up his sleeve, Xander knew there might be trouble, as he didn't have any hidden within his.

"What do you intend to do?" Fred's voice said in Xander's ear.

"I intend to stop this guy from killing anyone, any way I can," Xander growled, slipping into his less pleasant mindset just a bit too easily.

 **Ship corridor. A few moments later**

Xander cautiously pushed open the door and walked through. Once he was inside, he withdrew the Glock 9mm pistol he was carrying. He started making his way down the corridor even though all the lights were out, except for the few that stayed on all the time.

{This is stupid, damn it, no backup and the home ground advantage totally belongs to the enemy!} "Lights are off in here," was all that Xander said though.

"Some of the cameras are knocked out as well. He must not want to be disturbed," Fred said. "Be careful!"

"Oz, how far out are you?" Xander asked as he neared a corner

"Almost there-" was the reply from Oz.

Xander couldn't hear the rest, unfortunately, as he was suddenly drenched in a spray of foam. Veruca came around the corner, holding a fire extinguisher in his arms, shooting it towards Xander. Taken by surprise and cursing himself for all kinds of a fool, Harris slipped and fell as the foam blinded him, the pistol he had been carrying skittering across the floor as he did so.

Veruca ran forward and kicked Xander in the ribs. Xander grunted in pain and tried to roll away, sliding on the floor as he did so.

"Stay still, damn it!" Veruca shouted as his second kick missed.

"Well, stop trying to kick me!" Xander shouted back.

"I intend to feast on your bones, you asshole, me and the others!" Veruca threw the extinguisher, and Xander barely deflected it with his right arm. "Only a few more minutes, and the beast will be here!"

"Yeah, well, maybe it'll want to visit the zoo."

"I'll hunt!" Veruca snarled and kicked Xander again. Xander could hear Fred yelling in his earpiece and threw it aside, not needing the distraction right now.

"No. Not tonight."

Veruca fell as he was tackled by Oz running up from behind Xander. Both men fell to the floor and began to rassle as Jinan helped Xander to his feet. "You alright?"

Xander nodded and grunted in response to Jinan's question. "Glad you could make it."

"Well, the deck was so crowded, kids everywhere and all," Jinan said rather sardonically.

Harris didn't reply, frowning at the sight of Oz remaining human as he fought his adversary. The unwelcome thought ran through Xander's mind, {Why doesn't he just wolf out and end this, quick and clean?}

"It's an honor thing," Jinan replied, able to guess what Xander was thinking. "Despite being on opposite sides, they're both still brother lycanthropes. Oz can't just rip his throat out or something, you know."

Veruca was trying to push Oz away, but wasn't succeeding. "Get away from me!"

"No," was Oz's blunt reply.

Xander placed the radio receiver back in his ear. "Fred, how long?"

"A couple of minutes at most."

Xander struggled to his feet. "Oz, I hate to rush you, but we don't have much time here?"

"I know."

"How are we going to get him to the cargo hold?" Jinan asked.

"Ah, hell," Xander muttered, making a command decision. "Fred, we need to clear the passengers off from the nearby decks!"

"I'm on it," was the reply, and over the radio Xander could hear Fred moving around.

The loudspeakers suddenly sprang to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, the captain cordially invites you to view the sunset off the port side of the ship. If you could please make your way there in an orderly manner, you will see a truly incredible sight." Fred said, her Texan accent standing out.

Xander could hear the low rumble of movement down the hallway. "Oz, you've got ten seconds to do it fairly. After that, take him down by cheating if you have to!"

Veruca pushed hard and Oz slammed into the wall. "I'll still hunt the human cattle aboard this ship, we all will. Whoever you are, you can't save them!"

"Kevin Veruca," Oz said as he punched Kevin so hard the other werewolf almost bounced off the wall. "The name's not a coincidence. So who was Veruca to you? Because I was there when your namesake died."

"I took her name to honor the one who bit me and taught me the hunt. She showed me the way to embrace the beast." A look of comprehension came over Veruca's face. "YOU! You're the traitor, the one who killed her. We will feast on your corpse-" He cocked his head and smiled. Kevin leaped forward and tackled Oz around the waist. "You're out of time."

"So are you."

Trying not to curse over Oz disregarding his orders - and wondering for a moment if this was how Cleburne felt, whenever things went wrong in a combat op - Xander and Jinan jumped back as the two fighters growled and started to change. Within a few seconds, there were two massive werewolves fighting in front of them.

"Look out!" Jinan cried out as the two werewolves struggled. One of the wolves grabbed the other one and started wrestling him towards the door. Xander and Jinan were knocked out of the way as the werewolves went past, Harris wanting to open fire with his pistol but unable to risk killing Oz. Human and demon exchanged glances and followed the lycanthropes.

The door splintered apart as the two wolves burst through it, a couple and their small child staring in shock as the two animals came out onto the deck. One of the wolves sniffed the air and turned towards them. It cocked its head to the side and, somehow, a grin could actually be seen on its large and furry snout.

The other wolf threw itself at the first wolf. The two wolves started tearing at each other again as Xander and Jinan came through the door.

"The civilians!" Xander said urgently to his companion.

Jinan hurried towards the passengers. "Come on, just head down the corridor, please move it along."

The parents didn't need Jinan's urging to start shepherding their child away from the fight and around the corner. She turned back to see the first werewolf leaping towards her, so Jinan reacted on impulse. She turned black and her hair seemed to turn into fire, as the Kaohsiung demon assumed her true native form.

"Whoa!" Xander shouted in surprise, instinctively aiming his Glock at the two creatures. {Now that's something new.}

The attacking wolf paused for a second and snarled. It paused and then jumped at Jinan. The second werewolf rammed into the side of the first werewolf first, though, as the two animals fell against the railing on the edge of the deck.

"OZ!" Both Xander and Jinan yelled as the two werewolves fought and then fell over the railing.

The two ran to the railing and looked down. There holding onto the railing was Oz, gradually changing back to human form. He reached up with his free hand and grabbed the hands being offered to him.

"Veruca?" Xander asked.

"Down there. I think," was the short answer as Oz was pulled up to the deck, still staring at the depths of the ocean.

"Come on, buddy, we attracted some unwelcome attention just now and we need to get you some clothes," Xander said as he ushered Oz and Jinan back into the depths of the ship. "I mean, I'm sure Captain Timmons has rules about public nakedness around here."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. The same time**

Curiously, that was exactly how Dawn Summers was feeling right now; as if she was publicly naked, as Brother Feodor stared at her from the doorway with a combination of affection and concern.

It had freaked her out big-time, when the abbot of the Order of Dagon had shown up on her doorstep this morning. She hadn't known what to say, or if she should even say anything. But coming so quickly on the heels of the M'Fashnik demon's death, the monk had simply introduced himself and then left, saying that he would be back later on tonight when things had calmed down a bit. It was now later and the monk had come back, standing at their front door. Standing on the inside of the door were the Summers women and Giles.

"Ordinarily, I would ask permission to come inside. But after spending the past month or so in this town, I have learned better," the Czech monk said as he stood at the front door, which had been repaired by now.

Giles simply gestured, beckoning the holy man to come inside if he could. Brother Feodor nodded and entered the house, passing the vampire test. "Thank you, Mr. Giles."

"You know who I am," Rupert observed neutrally.

"Indeed I do," the monk said politely. He then turned to face Joyce. "Mrs. Summers, hello. I'm glad to see you're looking better than you did this morning."

"Err, thank you," Joyce said uncertainly. "And, uh, welcome to my home, Brother Feodor."

"Mind if I ask why exactly it is you're here?" Buffy said, unable to help herself.

"Buffy, please!" Joyce said with a stern look to her oldest daughter, chastising the Slayer for her manners.

"No, the question is not undeserved," Brother Feodor spoke up, hoping to forestall an argument. "And the simple answer is that I wished to say goodbye in person, before I returned to my Order in Europe. Over the past few weeks I have satisfied myself beyond all reasonable doubt that the Key is in good health and in good hands, and thus my task here is complete."

"Wait!" Dawn called out as she saw the abbot about to turn and leave. "Where are you going? I have, like, a million questions to ask - I mean, you can't just show up here for thirty seconds and then simply walk out the door like that!"

"What she said. See, we know you're one of those guys who sent Dawnie here, who made her human last year," Buffy stated, eyes narrow. "And personally, I've always wanted to know why you did that. I mean, I know that in the previous timeline you did it to save Dawn from that Glory thing who came looking for her, but here and now - why?"

"Because Xander Harris asked it of me."

Everyone was momentarily stunned, before all four Sunnydalians began to babble at high speed and loud volume. Brother Feodor held up both hands and asked patiently, "One at a time, please."

"You've met Xander? And, and you know where he is right now?" Buffy's voice spoke volumes of hope and excitement.

"Yes I have, and no, I do not," the monk replied gently, noting the look of intense disappointment on Buffy's face. "The Timetripper came to us over a year ago, and that was a day which I will long remember. Initially, I feared the worst - but then the man told me everything-"

"What did he say, exactly? Did he mention me?" Buffy interrupted excitedly.

"Yes, that he did. Xander Harris specifically chose you to be the Key's sister. When I asked him why not the other Slayer, he said," Brother Feodor paused for a moment, trying to recall the exact words. "He said, 'Never mind my issues with her; the point is she'll tell anyone who comes for Dawn to damn well go to hell. No matter if it's a hellgod, the Watchers Council or even the President of the United States'."

The reactions to this were many and various. Joyce looked concerned, Giles looked interested, Dawn looked happy, but Buffy felt a mix of both happiness and concern. Happy that Xander had decided to choose her for the role of the Key's sister, and concern that he'd had 'issues' back then. "Okay, why-"

"Wait a minute, Buffy, who put you in charge? This isn't a Slayer-only interrogation!" Dawn interrupted angrily. "The rest of us have some questions as well, y'know!"

Miss Summers somehow resisted the urge to tell her sister to be quiet as Joyce said, "This, this spell you did, the one where you somehow made my little girl human. I don't know how you did it, but I want your word that you'll never undo it - that you'll never meddle with our memories and make us forget Dawn, by reversing whatever it was you did last year. Agreed?"

"MOM!" Dawn exclaimed in shock.

"Of course," Brother Feodor nodded his head to Joyce, ignoring the brunette teenager's outburst. "My predecessors and I took care of the Key for centuries, but that time has obviously passed. Dawn is a human being now, and one of the first commandments of our faith is that we shall not knowingly harm another human soul."

{Oh my God, I really do have a soul?} Dawn asked herself in a daze, but her question was quickly forgotten in the face of Giles asking everything he had ever wanted to know about the Key but had never been able to find out. Including details of the spell which had not only created the memories, but everything else - including, as Xander had put it in the prior timeline, the Dawnmeister Chronicles.

"Amazing," Rupert shook his head after Brother Feodor finished his explanation. "It's absolutely amazing! Reality-alteration spells a-a-are always tricky, of course, but the level of detail here is just-"

"Yeah, yeah, very impressive, props to everyone involved and all that," Buffy cut in. "But I have a question."

"What is it?" the monk asked politely.

"Well, Xander wrote in one of his letters that you guys somehow used a part of me to create my little sister, I already knew that. But what I don't know is, what exactly did you do to make Dawn have some kind of mystical connection to him?" the Chosen One asked. "I mean twice now she's been badly injured, and she" Buffy gestured helplessly. "Dream-talked to Xander, I guess you could put it?"

"Ah, that," Brother Feodor nodded in understanding, even as Dawn leaned forward with a look of anticipation on her face. The holy man added, "Originally it was both a failsafe, and a natural consequence of the spell-"

"What do you mean, natural consequence?" Dawn interrupted before anyone else could.

"The Key could not be molded into human flesh using the Slayer alone, at least not without you looking like the mirror image of your sister; which is something Xander Harris informed me did not take place in the previous timeline," the abbot told her. "Therefore, an additional human template had to be used in order for you to look as you do now."

"Another 'template'?" Dawn asked in confusion, even as the others looked at each other in alarm.

"Indeed. I don't know who was chosen in that other world, but here in this one..."

"XANDER!?" Dawn yelped, instinctively guessing the truth.

"Indeed," Brother Feodor nodded his head as Buffy, Joyce and Giles almost looked ready to faint. "Not quite a brother, and not exactly a father, but roughly a combination of both - in terms of flesh, if not blood."

 **The Northern Explorer, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. October 9, 2001**

Xander rubbed his eyes as the sunlight streamed into the office he and his team were sitting in. The group had taken turns throughout the night standing watch outside the cargo hold. The growling, snarling and attempts for the werewolves to break out had kept everyone on edge, even those who were catching a break. Around Xander, Oz and Jinan were resting.

Fred walked in. "Fletcher is on his way up, the ones in the hold have reverted back. We can hear them talking and moving around."

"Any word on Veruca?" Oz said.

Fred shook her head. "No, they've been looking all night. No sign of him, so the captain isn't happy about that. As a matter of fact, he isn't happy about anything this morning. Captain Timmons wants to know a lot more than we want to tell him."

"Guessing that would have been an awkward conversation," Oz said.

"Yeah, and coffee didn't make it any better." Fred sat down in the chair next to Oz. "He started grumbling about putting all of us in irons, unless we answered all his questions to his satisfaction. He was actually calling for the engineer to make some for him by the time I left."

"That can't be good. I *think* we might have overstayed our welcome around here," Xander mused. {Which is a pity, as I'd have liked to enjoy the rest of the cruise - no minders for once, just me hanging out with my friends.}

"Not to worry, I'd say Mother Hen has taken care of the situation."

Xander looked at Oz in surprise, the comment coming so quickly on the back of his thoughts of enjoying the cruise with his companions. "What?"

Oz nodded at the window and Xander looked outside. Close nearby, heading towards the cruise ship, was a Coast Guard cutter with a helicopter trailing behind it.

"Great. He couldn't have gotten them here last night?" Harris groaned.

 **The Coast Guard cutter, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. A while later**

Jinan walked to where Xander was watching the teenagers being loaded into a Coast Guard helicopter under the watchful eyes of several guardsmen. She said, "That's the last of them. The Coast Guard has searched the cargo hold thoroughly, and there's no one left hiding there." She looked at the helicopter. "So, what's going to happen to them?"

Xander shook his head. "Not sure, really. I'm thinking we can't just turn them loose with a warning, I mean they *were* going to commit mass murder. They didn't actually do it, but they had been talked into doing it, so who's to say they won't be talked into it again?"

"Back home, that is not a problem, the government would lock them up as long as it deemed necessary. Here, I'm not so sure."

"Well, the good colonel was saying something about the Patriot Act. Among other things, I don't think he's happy about having to explain a lot of stuff to a lot of people. Actually he's covering up a lot of things, that's what is making him unhappy."

"How unhappy is your Colonel Cleburne about me?" 

"The man did mention something about the Chinese Communist party and you being a member," Xander deadpanned.

Jinan laughed. "I think one of my uncles is a member, but other than that the family is apolitical."

The two of them were silent for a few moments. "So, you're a demon?" Xander finally broke the silence.

"And you're the Timetripper." 

Xander blinked. "Okay, not exactly the response I was expecting. However, the question remains, you're a demon?"

"Always have been, Xander Harris. I knew Oz was moving in high circles nowadays, I just didn't realize just how high. You're big-time."

"Don't know why you'd say that."

Jinan chuckled. "Come on, demons? We talk to other demons. We have our own sources of information. Lots of times, we know things before someone even thinks of putting it on CNN. Heck, we know about stuff that never makes the papers or TV." Jinan took a deep breath. "We know all about you, the man from the future. A lot of things have been happening lately because of you."

"Well, don't make too much of it," Xander said rather morosely, he didn't like to be reminded of his unique situation.

"You really don't know, do you?"

Xander looked at Jinan. "What? I mean I know quite a bit, but I don't know what you're talking about."

Jinan looked at Xander. "That small town in Idaho, a few months ago? You stood up for those who were being shafted, set up to take the fall for something they didn't even do. A lot of nonviolent demons were impressed by that. Most people would just have got out the pitchforks and torches, but not you and yours. You've given hope to a lot of peaceful demons that they might be able to fit in someday."

Xander didn't know what to say. "Personally, I'd say you seem to be putting too much trust and hope in this fellow you're talking about."

"Maybe, but I know that Oz is a pretty good judge of character. That's good enough for me."

Xander was silent at that. After a few moments he spoke up, "So, what's the plan for you now?"

"Well, there are some teenagers back in Los Angeles who still need how to learn to control the beast within, including them - if I can pry them loose from the government." She nodded at the teenagers aboard the helicopter, which was now flying back towards the mainland.

"I might be able to help with that, I know some people. They owe me a few favors." Xander smiled. "And y'know, we could probably use someone who can shoot fireballs from out of the top of their heads."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Come on, I've not had breakfast yet, let's get something to eat," Jinan smirked as she led her human companion away.

TBC...


	16. Chapter 16

**Part Fifty-Four**

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. October 23, 2001**

It was a typical 15-year-old girl's bedroom. A huge pile of stuffed animals on the bed, posters of 'NSync, Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys on the walls, and even a mobile of fish hanging from the ceiling. But the brunette sitting on the bed and staring at her diary was not a typical 15-year-old girl.

Dawn Summers was anything *but* your normal female teenager in southern California, as more than one person around here could have told you.

The young woman suddenly opened the book, and began to write.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _Xander Harris is my dad?_

 _It's been nearly two weeks since everyone learned the big news, and it's taken me at least this long to be able to wrap my head around it enough to put pen to paper._

 _Still - Xander Harris is my dad?_

 _I mean yeah, I know that Hank Summers is my father according to the official records, and even if someone did a paternity test or whatever he's the one that'd come up positive as the sperm donor. And of course, mom is still mom. Before he went back to Europe, Brother Feodor said that DNA and any other medical tests will definitely show that Hank and Joyce Summers are my bio-parents._

 _But that doesn't change the fact that a part of me comes from a guy who I've never actually met in real life. Brother Feodor explained that he and the other monks used a part of Buffy and a part of Xander to create me over a year ago, which kinda makes *them* my parents._

 _Soul-wise, anyway, it's Buffy and Xander who qualify when it comes to defining good ol' mom and pop._

 _My annoying big sister as a mommy is bad enough for me to contemplate, already. But thinking of Xander as my daddy?_

 _I mean, we're talking about the same guy who used to take me and Willow to the merry-go-round when I was 10 years old. The same guy who used to babysit me while he was dating Cordelia during junior year. The same guy who practically hated Buffy and those other two before he spent nearly five years in a hell dimension, and then hightailed it out of Sunnydale._

 _The same guy who I used to dream of one day getting married to..._

 _Okay, I'm *more* than a little creeped out right now. Thinking about stuff like that just can't be healthy for you._

 _I guess I probably need to talk to a shrink about it. Of course, it'll be kinda hard to explain to the good doctor just what my problem is and how I ended up having it. Yeah, I can just imagine *that* conversation. "I used to be a big blob of energy in Eastern Europe, plus my sister is my mother and this guy who knows the future is my father." I'm pretty sure that it'd earn me a quick trip to the nearest loony bin, just like what happened with Buffy back when she was my age._

 _Well, actually, that might be a decent break from what's been happening at the house and at the Magic Box._

 _Everyone's started looking at me funny, after Anya said something about how Giles was robbing Peter to pay Paul where I was concerned - whatever that's supposed to mean. And at home, it's not much better. It's not quite as bad as when I first found out I was the Key, sure, but it's pretty darn close._

 _Plus Buffy isn't taking the thought of being a mother too well, if you want my opinion. Sure she doesn't say anything, but every once in a while you can tell she's *majorly* freaking out. The other day, I caught her muttering about a Slayer dream and me saying 'hands off my daddy'. She saw me staring before she just shook her head and wandered away. Typical Buffy!_

 _'Course, she isn't physically a mother, just spiritually. My spiritual mother. Gak! Still, that doesn't mean she gets to tell me what time I have to be home by, that's mom's job. It's just, someone she thought was her sister is kinda sorta her daughter, and someone *I* thought was *my* sister is kinda sorta my mom._

Dawn paused for a second from her writing in her journal, and quickly re-read what she had just written.

"Oh yeah, I need some serious psychiatric help."

 **Capitol Hill, Washington D.C. October 24, 2001**

"Mr. Director, you've told us here today that inside sources, electronic intelligence and analysis enabled the anticipation - well, *partial* anticipation - of the attacks on September 11th. However, one thing that has been lacking in your testimony so far is an answer with regard to the initial source of this information."

The Director of the CIA, George J. Tenet, shifted in his seat at the female Chairman's question. The committee hearing room was full of Congressmen and staffers, but no public. This hearing was in closed session, but even so, there were some secrets that should not be revealed.

That didn't stop the various Representatives and Senators of the joint committee from asking questions they shouldn't be asking, though.

"You must understand, Madam Chairman, that some of the information came from sources outside our normal sphere of influence. To clarify, some of it came from intelligence services beyond our direct control." This was actually true, as the CIA director didn't have any control over what Siberian Trip Wire did.

"Direct control?"

"Yes, Madam Chairman, there are many intelligence networks that keep track of the various terrorist organizations operating in the world today. A number of them are foreign agencies. Some of these intelligence services, while not directly allied to us, are nonetheless willing to share information acquired by their agents - at least, on occasion." Tenet hoped that this would be enough to satisfy the committee.

No such luck.

"Madam Chairman. If I may ask a question?" a smooth, patrician-looking Congressman spoke into his microphone.

"Of course, Representative Blim," the female chair of the committee, Senator Dianne Feinstein, gave her approval.

"Director Tenet, despite the uncertainty with regard to the identity of your sources, there had to be a catalyst which led to the discovery of al-Qaeda's plans, a Rosetta Stone if you will. Could you inform us please as to the source of this Rosetta Stone?"

"Representative Blim, all I can say is the initial Rosetta Stone came from a source that, for various reasons, does not desire to have their contribution acknowledged," Tenet stated rather stiffly.

"Well, surely you can give us a name - or at least a code name?" Nathan Blim riposted smoothly.

"The source is still active, Congressman. To reveal the source's identity here and now could endanger its effectiveness and safety," George replied obstinately.

Blim briefly looked exasperated. "I am an elected representative of the United States government, Director Tenet. I shouldn't need to remind you that I do have a security clearance, and have held one for years."

"I agree. All of us here are members of Congress. We have an official duty to provide oversight over the intelligence agencies of the United States of America, to ensure the people's wishes are being followed."

Blim nodded. "Thank you, Senator Brucker. Mr. Director, my esteemed colleague is absolutely correct; we have a right to know whatever information it is you're concealing from us."

"Madam Chairman. May I interject?"

Senator Feinstein turned at the comment. "You may, Senator Lugar."

"Mr. Director, would this source you've hinted at here today be helpful for information on future terrorist attacks?" the silver-haired man asked carefully.

"Yes, Senator. In my professional opinion, this source could and would be of great assistance in preventing future terrorist attacks."

"Do you believe that the effectiveness of your information source would be compromised or ended, if his or her identity should be made public?" Lugar then asked.

"Yes, Senator, that is a legitimate concern. According to my information, the agency overseeing the source has already fended off several attempts to eliminate it by assassination," the CIA director said forcefully.

"Then Madam Chairman, in the interests of national security - is there any reason to add to their troubles by risking the spread of the information?" Senator Lugar asked persuasively. "I would think that it's enough to know that this source is still in place, and will warn of any similar trouble to 9/11 in the future."

"This joint committee is in executive session," Blim spoke up, feeling the unwelcome winds of change starting to blow.

"Yes, but still; in the intelligence world the less people who know a secret, the less chance of a leak. Loose lips sink ships, so to speak," Senator Lugar replied. "Wouldn't you agree, Madam Chairman?"

Senator Feinstein stared at both Lugar and Blim before replying, "I've heard that saying before, yes. And sometimes, an old saying still has a ring of truth to it." She turned back to the CIA director and said, "Very well, Mr. Tenet, I'd say that we can do without that particular piece of information at the present time. However, I think we do need to know what actions that this as-yet-unidentified agency you've mentioned is planning to undertake, with the information gleaned from your anonymous source."

"I understand, Madam Chairman, and that's why my aides are now handing out a memorandum with some proposed operations to deal with the terrorist threat." As the CIA Director spoke Blim and Brucker exchanged an annoyed look.

In the back of the hearing room, the eagle eyes of Esther Marcum noted that look carefully.

 **Bethesda Navy Hospital, Maryland. The same time**

Dr. Bert Chalmers made a notation on the chart in front of him, writing up how the surgery had gone that morning. A knock on the door caused him to look up. A dark-haired young woman and a shorter, red-haired young man were standing there.

"Dr. Chalmers?" the woman asked with a Texan accent.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I hope so. We have a mutual friend."

"And that friend would be-?"

This time, the man answered him. "Joyce Summers."

Chalmers exhaled loudly. "You know, I actually used to have a normal life once."

"We all did at one time, I guess," Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne said sagely.

"So what does Mrs. Summers want this time?" Bert put down his chart.

"Actually, she didn't send us. Another friend sent us. He knows Mrs. Summers too. You've not met him yet," Fred said.

Chalmers thought for a moment. "A certain name does come to mind."

"A name best not spoken out loud," Oz said, deadpan.

"Tell me about it! The last time I heard it, I caught no end of grief from Josh," Chalmers complained.

"Josh?" Fred asked.

"Mother Hen," Oz explained.

"His name is Josh?" the Burkle woman asked in confusion.

"It's what I call him, it's actually short for Joshua. However, enough about that - look, what brings you two here today?" Chalmers said.

"Cleburne doesn't know we're here, just so it's clear, and right now we'd like to keep it that way." Oz closed the door behind him.

"Putting one over on him, are you?" Chalmers smiled, he knew what the odds were of *that* succeeding.

"Well, we prefer seeing it as not wanting to burden him with too much information," Fred said.

"Okay, is this information he needs?"

"No, he doesn't need it," Oz said with finality.

Chalmers suppressed another sigh. "Very well, so once again - what brings you here?"

"Sunnydale. There's a patient there who needs your help."

"Mrs. Summers? Last I heard, she was alright," Bert frowned.

Fred shook her head, recalling the precise words Xander had said. "No, her name's Cassie Newton. She's a teenage girl whose family has a major history of bad heart problems."

 **Siberian Trip Wire Conference Center, Washington D.C. October 26, 2001**

"So. Blim is determined to find out the source of the tip-off for 9/11, if he hasn't already," Cleburne said.

"He was certainly persistent in his questioning of Director Tenet. Even after Senator Lugar headed him off, Blim tried again later," Esther Marcum said.

"You think he knows about the kid?"

Irving Hollins, better known in some circles as the Wizard, answered, "At the very least, the Congressman knows there is more to the story than has been revealed."

The three of them stared at each other around the table. "What I want to know is, why would Blim care? I mean yeah, he is a bottom-feeding politician who comes from old money, but this is something that he can't exactly get any press coverage out of. I mean, the media would laugh him out of public office if he started talking about psychic time travelers," Cleburne noted.

"Perhaps he's laying the groundwork for something like that, a bit further down the road," Esther speculated.

"Long-term planning? That's not their style."

"Colonel Cleburne is correct, the Blim's are not noted for taking the long view; at least with regard to the most recent generations," Hollins said. "Apart from what comes with owning half the eastern seaboard, most of the time the family is obsessed with the upcoming election cycle. Which begs the question, what political benefit would the Congressman get from pursuing this particular investigation?"

"Well, I can't see any. Somehow, I don't think the voters will be too upset with the source that allowed us to stop the hijackers." Cleburne shrugged. "Maybe he wants to blame us for the car bombs?"

"How would he do that?" Marcum asked. "I think al-Qaeda was quite clear on their publicly accepting responsibility for that."

"Since when do the Blim's care about making sense, with them it's all about hot air and headlines," Cleburne said grumpily. "I don't know why people think that family is the closest thing this country has to royalty, I swear I don't!"

"Most likely the Blim's don't care who the source is, at least not per se," Hollins looked at the others in the conference room. "I suspect someone else does, though, and has enlisted Representative Blim to find out who it is."

"Brucker?" Esther knew from her contacts how that female senator had big plans for the future, maybe even reaching the highest political office by 2008 or 2012.

Hollins shook his head at Marcum's question. "No, I think there's someone else who is playing this game."

 **The headquarters for the Circle of the Black Thorn, West Los Angeles, California. October 27, 2001**

Senator Helen Brucker sat in the darkened room. The shadows moved, but that did not appear to disturb her too much.

"Well?" one of the shadows demanded.

"They're hiding something," the female demon hiding inside a human body said simply.

"I see that putting you inside that body has made you quite the genius," was the sarcastic reply. "We know that, we want to find out what. They were too lucky in heading off the attacks. They had help."

"There is the possibility that it may have been exactly what they're hinting it was, a spy within al-Qaeda being run by the Israelis that they don't want to endanger," Helen smirked. 

"No, we have reason to believe it was supernatural in nature." Actually, they had reason to believe it was the Timetripper. "How can you find out?"

"Follow the money. I'm on the budget committee; whoever is hiding the secret, they have to be getting their funding from somewhere. Endanger that funding, and someone in Washington will talk eventually."

"Very well. But be warned; Bathory will not accept failure." The shadows receded.

"Yes, I know she won't," Brucker said to the empty room; the very same place within which Angel would have one day signed away his shanshu. "And if I have to, I can arrange for the Blim's to find that out personally."

 **The Blim estate, Los Angeles, California. October 28, 2001**

"Sir?"

Nathan Blim looked up from his desk in his spacious office. "What is it?"

The junior aide hesitantly walked into the office. "I've been looking over the budgets for some of the various agencies you ordered me to investigate, trying to get a lead on that information you're interested in."

Blim nodded. "Go on."

"Well, it's not quite what I believe you're looking for, but I did find some...discrepancies."

"Discrepancies, what do you mean?" the Congressman demanded.

"Well, sir, I was looking at the budget for military special operations and intelligence. There were some odd expenditures." The aide walked in and placed a file on the desk, opening it as he did. "It's all here in their payroll section."

Blim didn't have time to wade through a big pile of paper; that was what the little people were for. "Are we overpaying them? I know the Pentagon has a problem with fraud, has done for a long time."

The aide shook his head. "Sir, what I found was that there seems to be periods where small groups of soldiers get hazardous duty pay, the type associated with combat."

Representative Blim looked at his aide, very annoyed. "Soldiers get shot at, that qualifies as hazardous duty!"

"I know, sir, but these soldiers are listed as being deployed here in the United States. The payments also go back several years. Well before the terrorist attacks."

The Congressman shrugged. "The Balkans, peacekeeping operations have been going on there for several years now."

The aide shook his head. "I thought of that, sir, but the thing is - those deployments aren't hidden. These ones, however, are not part of the public record. Why bother to hide something you're already publicly acknowledging?"

Nathan frowned, his instincts were telling him something was up but he decided to keep playing devil's advocate for now. "Well, it is the military, sometimes it's secret purely for secrecy's sake."

"There's more, sir." Blim nodded and the aide continued on, "Some of the soldiers who've received hazardous duty pay also show up on medical records as being wounded. So far, I've found two of them listed as being killed in the line of duty. The official record says it was due to training accidents, but the records I've been able to access thanks to a friend of a friend make it look more like being killed in combat. Although, I have to admit, parts of the classified records were weird."

"Weird in what way?"

"Well, getting killed with what forensics would describe as a stab wound with twin holes in the neck - such wounds simply don't match up with modern combat injuries."

Blim nodded, he knew a lot more than his aide did thanks to the demon part of the family; for example, his nephew Billy. "Anything else with regard to this nugget of information?"

"Well, sir, one thing that popped up was a reference to 'Siberians', a one-line sentence that also involved the acronym STW. Maybe, uh, there's something going on with the Russians?"

Nathan Blim brushed that aside. "What else do you know about these wounds, how about where they were treated? Would that help tell us where these men were injured?"

The aide thought for a second. "It's possible, sir. I'll have to do some follow-up digging through the medical records."

Blim nodded. "Do it."

The aide knew a dismissal from Blim when he heard one. Thus, he quickly hurried out of the room.

Nathan Blim picked up a pen and made a note to ask what the aide had found later on. He had a suspicion that it was something that Brucker might find interesting. Even if that didn't work out, maybe Wolfram & Hart might be interested. He owed them a favor for their recent actions regarding Billy, after all.

 **Elsewhere in Los Angeles, California. The same time**

"Honey, I think it's a bad idea. Why don't we just go with my plan instead?"

The speaker was the redheaded naval officer known as Commander Michael Byrne, who had long ago been nicknamed 'Red' by Cleburne. The green-skinned demon waitress known as Ametila fixed her fiancé with a fierce glare, "Mike, I am not going to some wedding chapel in the mountains in order to elope with you! Just be thankful you didn't mention Las Vegas, or you would be sleeping on the couch tonight - and it's a *lumpy* couch!"

The two were in the living room of Ametila's apartment. Red cringed on the inside, he'd known this was going to be difficult and so far, it was all living up to his worst fears.

"Honey, I'm not saying we elope or anything like that. I'm just saying that it might be a good idea not to plan a big fancy wedding with hundreds of people we don't even know or like! Maybe something intimate, just a few friends."

Ametila continued glaring at Red. She was no fool, and so the waitress said, "This is about your mother, isn't it?"

"Sweetheart."

Don't you dare 'sweetheart' me! For months now, you've been avoiding the subject of me meeting your mother." Ametila folded her arms. "Hell, I've noticed that I've yet to meet *any* of your family."

Red's stomach tightened. "Well, none of them are here on the West Coast, uh, they all live in Boston."

"And planes from Boston can't fly here? The other night, did *you* drive all the way to LA from the East Coast?" Ametila glared at him.

"Dear, I've not seen my parents for months."

"But you've talked to them, right?" Ametila demanded.

Red nodded. "A few times and before you ask, yes, I have told them all about you."

"Well, good, now if you told me about them."

Red shook his head. "Sweetie, my mother is - well, she's different. She doesn't know about the demon thing, only that I'm engaged to a waitress." Hurriedly in response to the volcanic look on his fiancée's face, Byrne added, "Besides, I've yet to meet your parents!"

"Well, Dad is in town for the weekend so you can meet him." Ametila smiled sweetly.

Red wasn't fooled by the pleasant exterior for an instant. "Damn, I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Yes, but you were almost adorable doing it. Now, be on your best behavior, okay? Dad, he, uh, he doesn't care for humans that much. He says I can do better."

Byrne exhaled noisily. "Well, at least he knows humans exist. Like I said, my mom is still totally unaware of demons."

"Well, she's going to be my mother-in-law. She's just going to have to get used to it." Ametila calmed down and crossed her arms.

Red smiled, there was the fierceness that he had seen in Ametila the first time they'd met. "She will and if she doesn't, well - she'll just miss out on a lot of time with her grandkids."

Ametila smiled at that and moved into Red's arms. "Grandkids? Lots of them? I like the sound of that."

"You know, I come from a large family." Red smiled and kissed Ametila on the forehead.

"So do I," Ametila kissed him back. "Twenty brothers and sisters."

Red raised an eyebrow. "Okay, in comparison maybe five children isn't that large. Still, if we're going to have that large a family we probably need to get started soon."

"Like tonight?"

"Well, we could call it practice."

"Practice makes perfect." Ametila kissed Red and stroked his hair.

"Like you need that much practice," Red replied when the kiss stopped.

"I still want to meet your mother."

{Uggggh. My ass is *so* doomed, } Red thought to himself as they continued to smooch passionately.

 **Sunnydale Memorial Hospital, Sunnydale, California. Later that day**

Cassie Newton fidgeted as she sat on the examining table. She should have been nervous, but she wasn't. Most teenage girls would be nervous when called in for a doctor's appointment that they had not scheduled.

However, these days she wasn't like most teenage girls. Unlike in a world where Siberian Trip Wire had had no involvement with Sunnydale, her psychic gift had bloomed early and Miss Newton now knew a lot of things she otherwise wouldn't have.

The door opened up and a doctor walked in.

"Cassie, hi, my name is Dr. Chalmers and I've been looking at your chart. I'm afraid I have some bad news, and some not so bad news," Bert said in his calm, reassuring doctor voice.

"Don't worry, Dr. Chalmers, I know the heart valve is easily fixable with the surgery you're about to suggest to me."

Bert Chalmers looked at Cassie for a few moments and then sighed. "A normal trip to Sunnydale to treat a patient, that's all I wanted. I swear, I will never get used to this town!"

Cassie smiled at the doctor. "Oh, yes, you will."

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. October 29, 2001**

"This doesn't make any sense. Why would I get a vision of something that happened last week? That woman Charlene Baird, she's already dead!"

Cordelia poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Gwen. Cordy then poured herself one as Wesley turned on the VHS machine, he had acquired footage from the convenience store's video surveillance camera when Mr. Baird had killed his wife. Pryce knew that this one was strange, even by their agency's standards; the old couple had been happily married for thirty years, before the husband had gone berserk and killed the woman he loved.

"I don't know why the Powers decided to send that vision at this point in time, Cordelia. Normally, the visions occur in such a way to give us a chance to save lives. Life has already been lost here," Wesley said sadly.

"What, then the mailman was running late?" Cordy asked. "They're worse than the post office! I mean a week late, come on."

"Well, I don't see why they had to send it to us in stereo. There was no need for us both to get the vision." Gwen took a sip from the coffee.

"Well, uh, the visions are always intended to prevent a loss of life. In this case, perhaps it may have been sent to both of you to prevent an even greater loss of life." Wesley placed the VHS tape into the machine and pressed Play. "Perhaps the surveillance tape will shed some light on the question."

The three of them watched the video for a few minutes. Wesley and Cordy cringed as the beating was played out. "That's savage," Cordy muttered.

"Yes. The fury is remarkable, particularly in public," Wes said clinically, eyes narrowed. He then rewound the tape to a few minutes previously.

"Men can be pigs," Gwen said, recalling some nasty incidents during her childhood as she watched Mr. Baird start to argue with his wife.

"Yeah, one in particular." Cordy pointed at the screen where a man was present in the background. "Billy Blim."

 **Outside the residence of Lilah Morgan, Los Angeles, California. A few hours later**

A lot had happened ever since the three members of Angel Investigations had watched the videotape of Billy Blim inciting a man to commit murder.

Angel had gone to confront Lilah about it, but he'd been stunned to find her black and blue within her apartment; the victim of a savage beating from her co-worker Gavin Park. The male attorney had been talking with the part-demon guy in Lilah's office before Representative Blim had shown up to collect him, and afterwards Billy had smiled as he'd walked along with his uncle hearing the sounds coming from Lilah's office.

Angel had then decided to go to the source, and confront Billy himself. After a rather nasty conversation at the estate, the cops had shown up - but not to arrest Angel for trespassing, rather to arrest Billy on suspicion of murder. All thanks to a tip he had phoned in, as part of Billy's master plan to get out of the palatial twelve million dollar compound he was being held within against his will.

As an added bonus, the two cops who had arrested him? The male had tried to shoot and kill the female, thanks to Billy touching him when he'd been handcuffed, and now the evil misogynist was loose on the streets.

The staff of Angel Investigations, apart from Darla who was now eight months pregnant, had spread out in order to find Billy. Cordelia had decided on a different route to the others, though: she had come to Lilah's apartment in order to talk to her, and get information direct from the evil lawyers.

Miss Chase knocked on the door. {Come on, open up!}

Lilah did so. She then said with a smirk, "Well, this is unexpected. Cordelia Chase, right?"

"Yeah. Are you gonna invite me in? Oh, wait. I'm not a vampire." With that, the former cheerleader walked into the apartment.

"Please, come on in," Lilah said sardonically as she closed the front door and turned to face her 'guest'. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I want you to tell me about Billy. Everything you *didn't* tell Angel. I want you to help me stop him," Cordelia said fiercely.

"And what makes you think I'm gonna do that?" Lilah asked, the smirk never leaving her face.

Cordy gestured, "Well, there's your face - for starters."

Lilah picked up her drink, easily ignoring the fact that the bruises from Gavin's assault and battery told a very vivid story. "I know the risks of my job and I accept them."

"Then why were you crying five minutes ago?" There was a pause, as the two women stared at one another. Cordelia added, "Lady, there isn't a thing about badly reapplied mascara that I don't know about!"

Lilah put down her drink and told her, "I'm not Lindsey MacDonald; I don't run off or switch sides whenever it gets tough. And since when is this your job? I thought Angel was the Dark Avenger who showed up to threaten the people from my firm."

Cordy shook her head. "He doesn't know I'm here. And for the record? Angel feels responsible for everything this guy has done lately, because he let him out from that burning fire-cage or whatever. I feel responsible because Angel did it to save my life. You, who are actually responsible for the entire thing, feel nothing at all - because *you* are a vicious bitch."

Lilah shrugged. "So? You know me."

"Please, I was you - with better shoes!" Cordelia gestured.

"These are Boracchi," Lilah held up her foot a little.

"Fall collection?"

"Next spring."

"He's widened the heel."

"And rounded the toe."

"That won't work with pink."

"The pink is out this spring."

"Billy Blim makes people crazy," Cordelia suddenly cut out the idle banter, and got back to why she was here.

"Not all people. Just men. He brings out a primordial misogyny in them, turns them into killers. Kind of like Xander Harris, if you want my opinion," Lilah shot back.

"What would you know about Xander?" Cordelia was suddenly thrown-off balance a little.

Lilah smiled, a sublime and evil smile if there ever was one. "I know his parents, I've met them - unfortunately. I've met him too, the Harris project was my baby right from the start. You know, your ex-boyfriend may have had a 'white knight' mentality in coming to LA to save the soul of his lady love, the dearly departed Faith, but his methods - trying to choke me to death, stabbing Lindsey in his fake plastic hand? Well, let's just say I'm sure that Harris is no longer that boy who used to follow the Sunnydale Slayer around like a lovesick puppy, before getting you all hot and bothered inside those high school utility closets."

Cordelia stepped back, eyes wide. "How did you?"

"The same way I know that *you* would have been kidnapped and held for ransom in order for Harris to turn himself in, if anyone had thought it was worthwhile doing so," Lilah grinned. "My sympathies regarding your boyfriend who died recently, by the way - what was his name? Chuck something or other?"

"Shut up about that," Cordelia hissed at the female lawyer, she did not want to discuss her deceased significant other.

"It's just that I couldn't help noticing you two split up just after 9/11, when Harris made his rather spectacular debut on national television," Lilah continued on relentlessly. "Did you know that the office betting pool at my firm is giving two to one odds that you dumped Chuck what's-his-name, because you suddenly learned that your high school sweetheart was still alive and kicking? Personally I don't believe that, but I know quite a few people who do. Why settle for a street sweeper when you have a chance for snagging Donald Trump, and all that."

"I told you to shut up about that! Now where do I find Billy Blim?" Cordelia growled at the older woman, trying not to let Lilah's taunts get under her skin but not succeeding very well.

"Sorry, sweetie, can't help you. And even if I did, you couldn't touch him. I mean, Congressman Nathan Blim's nephew? You're way out of your league on this one, Vision Girl," Miss Morgan sneered at her. "Now why don't you go back to Angel's hotel, and practice your lines in the mirror for when you meet Harris again one day? Despite that face and body he's not going to simply jump into bed with you, you know, at least not just like that - not with your past history, anyway."

Furious and goaded beyond tolerance, Cordelia bitch-slapped Lilah and slammed the door on her way out, her head full of violent fantasies concerning what she would do one day to the female senior associate of the firm.

"Oh yeah, I still got it," Lilah smirked to herself, feeling a whole lot better ever since Gavin had almost killed her.

 **The residence of Dylan Blim, Los Angeles, California. Later that night**

The hip little get-together was in full swing, as the lyrics of the song were heard: "...the future is coming on, coming on - finally someone let me out of my cage..."

Dylan Blim paid no attention to the music, though. The son of Nathan Blim was enjoying playing pool, while his party guests were having fun. Two people, a man and a woman were on the couch kissing passionately in the tastefully-furnished suite, which was merely one of Dylan's little West Coast hideaways. But Dylan paid no attention to the semi-mating activity either; he was determined to sink his ball into the corner pocket.

One of the guests walked over to Dylan and his opponent. "Hey, Dylan, your cousin is here."

Blim paid little attention, as he lined up his next shot. "Which one? I got about a zillion of them."

The guy shrugged. "I think he said his name is Billy."

As he made the shot, Dylan said, "Billy? Not possible. Billy's..."

"Hi, Dylan."

Dylan Blim instantly moved backwards, he knew the family rules regarding his part-demon cousin. Namely, never leave him alone with your girlfriend, keep him away from your pets and don't *ever* let him touch you. "Billy?"

"I didn't know you were having a party, cuz." Billy looked around. "A-list crowd. But then, what else should I expect from the future Congressman?"

Dylan visibly swallowed. "Billy, I-I thought we agreed that you weren't going to come around here anymore. Y'know, after that last thing."

Billy paid no attention to that. The misogynist was eyeing the kissing couple on the couch as he said, "I think we should talk to them about appropriate public behavior. Do you want to do it? Or should I oblige?"

Dylan instantly grabbed his pool partner. "Get 'em to knock it off. Now." He then shoved the guy towards the duo that was making out.

Billy smiled as he turned back towards his cousin. "Dylan, I have a bit of a problem."

"You need money?"

"Cousin, you know me so well," Billy smiled a truly satanic smile this time. "But before I fly out on the family plane to Tahiti, I'm thinking of having a bit of fun in this city - so I need a bit more than the usual amount."

Desperate to get rid of his relative, Dylan put the money on the table and backed away. He thought to himself, {I hope that's enough.}

"It'll do," Billy nodded, as if he'd read his cousin's mind. "See you around, Dylan."

{I sure as hell hope not.} Dylan Blim thought to himself in relief as Billy quickly departed the party.

 **Caritas Karaoke bar, Los Angeles, California. A while later**

"Your father is deeply grieved, for you have brought shame upon the imperial family name!"

Ametila rolled her eyes at Lurvack's comment. The grand vizier of her royal father nonetheless continued, "It is bad enough that you came to this place and became a, a serving wench. But to consort with humans, on top of that? To think - you, a princess of the realm, actually lowering yourself to waiting upon drunken buffoons. And *human* drunks as well!"

Behind the vizier stood two of his subordinate warriors, they were trying to not appear nervous but they weren't succeeding very well. Ignoring them, the tall grayish-green vizier folded his arms as Ametila walked around the table placing the drinks in front of the patrons.

The waitress got to where he was standing. She looked at the massive demon for a few seconds, and a glare appeared on her face. For a moment Lurvack held her gaze, until without saying anything he took a step back and she finished placing the drinks on the table.

"Lurvack, I've had this conversation with Dad, Mom, Dad's counselors and *you* more times than I can count. So I'm telling you for the last time, I am not going to just sit at home in the family keep until Dad sets up some kind of arranged marriage for me for his political gain, I am *not* something to be bartered and then shown off like an expensive toy!" Ametila growled.

The vizier tried to be patient with her, but his patience was wearing thin. "You are the elder princess, the second in line for succession to the throne. You have obligations and duties."

"I have an older brother who has been trained since birth to lead our people, not to mention him being very eager to do so. I also have a life which I intend to enjoy!"

Lurvack bit back his initial response to Ametila's retort. "And the human, this human warrior you are infatuated with." He snorted, "A human warrior, now there's a term that's ridiculous if I ever heard one."

Ametila smiled as she cut him off, "Mike is quite the warrior in every sense of the word, Lurvack, believe me - I should know."

Lurvack suppressed a shudder, easily able to get the innuendo. "But you're of royal blood!"

"And you're my father's lackey, if you insist on getting technical about it," Ametila said as she walked back to the bar.

Lurvack followed her, cursing the edict that forbade him to simply grab her by the arm and drag Ametila home. "Perhaps I should mention your father wants to meet you and this human. If I cannot dissuade you from this insane course of action, then I'm sure you will not insult the King directly to his face that way!"

Ametila rolled her eyes as she put another round of drinks on the tray. "Okay, so when exactly does Dad want to meet my future husband?"

"Oh, sorry about that!"

Feeling ill from Ametila's last statement, Lurvack frowned at the dark-haired man who had just bumped into him. "I will accept your apology this time, human - but watch where you're going in the future."

"Right. Please excuse me, no offence meant," Billy Blim said with an enigmatic smile as he walked off. {I don't think I ever tried it with this kind of demon before. Oh yeah, this should be...interesting.}

 **Chinatown, Los Angeles, California. Later that evening**

Michael "Red" Byrne whistled as he walked down the street towards Caritas. Then he frowned when he saw a crowd of people around the entrance. Several people were fleeing down the street away from the club, thus he increased his pace immediately.

There was a large grayish-green demon waving his arms and shouting. He recognized the demon as one of Ametila's people. Red could make out ranting about something concerning humans. He then saw two figures laying on the ground in front of the shouting demon. { Not good. Not good! }

Red spotted one of the people on the ground, and saw that she was green-skinned and bleeding. Another of her people was standing over her, a sword in his hand, trying to defend her against attack. However, he failed as the larger demon swung at him and beat him down. The warrior dropped the sword and fell to the ground, bleeding heavily.

Red had already started running by this point. Hearing the noise, the grand vizier looked up and saw him approaching.

"A human," Lurvack growled, a psychotic look in his eyes. "That royal harlot has dishonored her bloodline by cavorting with the likes of you!"

Red didn't say anything as he approached Ametila, so Lurvack roared incoherently and swung at the STW operative. Red easily slid under the punch and kicked the demon's left knee, hard. He heard a crack and Lurvack grimaced.

But it didn't slow him down, as Lurvack kicked out with the other leg, getting in a glancing blow as Red rolled away. "Human, you cannot escape me or my wrath! I shall wipe the stain of your pollution from the royal line, if it is the last thing I ever do!" He turned, reached down and grabbed the sword that had been dropped by the other warrior.

He turned back around and saw the ground was empty where Red had been a few seconds ago. "Human!" Lurvack growled as he looked around.

"Demon," was Red's response as he suddenly appeared to Lurvack's left and hit his abdomen, hard. The sword came around in response and he leaned back, avoiding it.

Lurvack lashed out with his left leg and hit Red in the side. Red grunted in pain and fell back. Lurvack sought to press the advantage, but Red rolled to the left and jumped to his feet. The demon went to repeat the attack on Red's other side, but Red grabbed the leg and held on tight.

"Not this time."

Red swept his leg out and knocked the demon's right leg out from under him. Lurvack fell to the ground and the sword clattered next to him. Red grabbed it quickly and raised it up.

"You hurt her," Michael Byrne said calmly as he rammed the sword down through Lurvack's throat. "No one does that to my Ametila and lives."

He easily ignored all the demon blood gushing out onto the sidewalk, even though the gathered crowd didn't. Red then turned to other demon warrior, who was getting to his feet. "What happened?"

The warrior demon looked down at his dead commander; technically, he was honor-bound to avenge Lurvack's death immediately. But since the vizier had committed one of the most heinous crimes imaginable - actually daring to lay hands on the princess of the realm - then the circumstances were such that he could exercise a bit of discretion right now. If it became necessary to kill this human later, fine; but right now, it was time to talk and not fight.

Thus the green demon warrior said, "It was all due to a human, I think - I noticed how he touched many males in there, human and demon both, and soon enough they all seemed to take leave of their senses. They started attacking any female in sight, even if they could not cause any harm within that establishment. Then Lurvack,"

The demon paused. "He dragged Princess Ametila out of there, and then he - he, he actually attacked her. I saw it in his eyes; the madness had swallowed him whole! Lurvack betrayed all of the oaths he had ever taken - truly, this will become known as a black day in the history of the kingdom. And my comrade and I could do nothing to stop it."

"It wasn't your fault. Technically, it wasn't even his fault if I'm reading you right," Byrne gestured to Lurvack's body, letting go of the anger. "That human guy you mentioned, I think we need to have a 'conversation' with him. Any idea which way he went?"

"No," the demon servant said, shaking his head. "There was too much confusion, and both my comrade and I were too busy trying to stop Lurvack at the time."

"Damn." Red looked around at the crowd of onlookers. "Any of you people happen to know anything?"

One of the demon patrons spoke up, "The man who went around touching everybody inside Caritas? I saw him earlier today, leaving Wolfram & Hart."

Ametila started moaning, as Red got down on his knees and stroked her forehead. Not far away, the demon servant tried to rouse his fallen comrade.

Red then looked up. "Wolfram & Hart, huh? I should have guessed," he said with a scowl.

 **The residence of Lilah Morgan, Los Angeles, California. Not long afterwards**

Lilah leaned back on the couch and took another sip of her drink, as the light of the sole lamp which was on streamed out all over the living room. She was moderately drunk, as the pleasure of taunting Cordelia only went so far and the alcohol helped dull the pain.

The light suddenly went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

"What the-?" Lilah started to get up when the phone rang.

"Answer it," a rough, gravelly voice said in the dark.

Lilah hesitated for a second and then picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said cautiously.

"You have an unexpected visitor. You will tell him all that you know concerning the one whose touch causes human males to attack their females. Disobey me, and your visitor will kill you very, very slowly," a voice she recognized said over the phone, and Lilah quickly felt her stomach drop.

 **Private airstrip, Santa Monica, California.** **Twenty minutes later**

Cordelia held the crossbow steady, aimed at Billy Blim's heart. "You're not getting on that plane, you misogynistic piece of crap." A private plane was nearby with the jet engine warming up.

Blim smirked at Cordelia. "You think I hate you because you're a woman? I don't."

Cordy snorted, "Gee, and I was feeling so special."

Billy went on, "See, I don't hate women. I mean, sure, you're all whores who sell yourselves for money and prestige, but men are just as bad. Maybe even worse. They're willing to throw away careers or families, or even lives for what's underneath your skirt!"

Cordy raised her crossbow a bit higher. "I'm wearing pants, in case you didn't notice."

"So, what, you like to dress like a man, talk like a man?" Billy smiled his satanic smile again. "Does that make you feel superior?"

"Actually, I'm feeling superior because I have an arrow pointed straight at your jugular." Cordelia did the big dramatic pause thing. "And the irony of using a phallic-shaped weapon here? Not exactly lost on me."

Billy shook his head, looking completely unconcerned. There was even a faint smirk on his face. "You don't have the nerve to do it. I mean seriously, what's a woman like you going to do to a man like me?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Then I'll just reach out and touch someone, or get in touch with my inner child or whatever. Maybe that'll do it for me." Blim was still smirking.

"How about I touch you instead?"

Blim turned around and was punched in the face by Angel, who had snuck up behind him. Billy then wiped his lip clean of the blood and smiled. He knew that Angel was already infected, that one contact had been sufficient. Now, all that was necessary was to keep the mark busy until the mojo took effect.

"You'll do." Billy punched Angel right back.

Angel shrugged off the punch. "That's not going to be enough." Another punch was the response.

Angel and Blim quickly found themselves in a pitched fight. Cordelia kept trying to keep her aim steady on the part-demon guy, but found it impossible to do so. The fight thus went on for several minutes.

Blim looked at Angel, who was now in vamp face. {Huh, I've never done it to a vampire before. Maybe something's different about 'em? } "All that rage bubbling to the surface, pal. Shouldn't you be seeing to her needs by now?" He nodded towards Cordelia.

"Sorry, not interested. Cordelia's a friend." Angel punched Blim hard in the face, making him stagger back.

{Damn! Lousy vampires, can't do anything right.} "Games, I like games. I definitely plan on playing some when I get to the island. But see, funny thing is I don't want you to slow me down." So saying, Billy rushed Angel and grabbed him. He then shoved Angel hard and he fell back upon Cordelia, blocking her shot.

Blim took advantage of the situation and ran towards the plane. It looked like he was going to get on board and get away, scot-free.

But then a gunshot rang out into the night, and a red blotch appeared on Blim's throat.

He staggered for a second, his eyes growing wide. He then gurgled, falling to his knees. Billy focused in on the location of the shot, seeing Red standing between him and the plane. The Navy veteran was holding a pistol in his right hand, and Lilah was standing behind him.

"You were responsible for hurting my fiancée. You don't do that without getting to meet me. You're not enjoying this meeting," Byrne said to the dying Billy.

Blim tried to say something, but nothing coherent was able to come out of his mouth. Billy then pitched forward onto his face, and finally died.

"Okay, I didn't see that coming," Cordelia said cautiously as she lowered the crossbow, but only slightly.

Red walked up slowly to Blim's body, being careful not to get too close. Lilah, looking conflicted, didn't move from where she was standing. Angel and Cordelia exchanged a glance.

After a few seconds, when Red was satisfied that Blim was dead, he took out a cell phone and punched in a number. "Yeah, it's me. I've got a biohazard that needs to be disposed of, Santa Monica airport - very contagious. Yeah, very, it spreads by touch. There's a fair amount of blood too, so you better get the bio-suits out from the storage lockers." He listened for a little bit. "Yeah, I'll secure the scene until you get here."

Red hung up the phone and holstered the pistol he had used to kill Blim. He looked at Angel; and luckily, he knew exactly who this particular vampire was. "You okay?"

Angel nodded, going back to his human face. "Yeah. I mean, you don't need to worry about me going all homicidal anytime soon - that thing he could do to drive men into a mindless rage, it had no power over me."

Red nodded. "Good, but you and her, you need to get out of here. A lot of people are going to be arriving soon, and it'd be best if you're not here when that happens."

"Why?" Cordelia asked, looking confused.

Red kept looking at Angel. "Mother Hen."

Angel's eyes widened for a second as he got the reference. "Come on Cordy, we need to go!" he said as he dragged the protesting Chase woman away.

After they were gone, Lilah stepped forward. "So what about me?"

Red looked over at her. "What the hell ever possessed you to let that asswipe loose on the streets again, in the first place?"

Lilah fidgeted. "I'm a lawyer, and the Blim's are my clients. They have the firm's services on retainer."

"And you weren't bothered by the job they paid you to do?" 

"That's not a consideration. Like I said, I'm a lawyer - which means ethically, I was obligated to carry out the wishes of my clients to the best of my ability," Lilah stated calmly.

"So you say. Still, counselor, the colonel is very disappointed in you."

For some reason Lilah found that affecting her more than it should have. Before she could respond, though, Ms. Morgan heard movement from behind the jet plane. She looked over and caught her breath. A group of very large demons came into view and started surrounding Blim's body. After a few seconds, the largest demon looked down at the corpse and then nodded.

Then another group came out of the hangar with a smaller green demon in the lead, the leader moving very poised and regally. He moved to where Billy's remains were laying. All of the demons made a point of not touching Blim or the blood coming from his body.

"This is Billy Blim?" the leader of the demons asked.

Lilah's eyes widened when she recognized the demon asking the question. "Yes, your majesty," she quickly answered.

The demon king turned his attention to Red. "You are Michael Byrne?"

Red nodded his head; he was starting to get an idea of who this was. "Yes sir."

"My daughter Ametila is quite taken with you. She is headstrong, and always has been. However I, indeed none of the royal family, ever expected her to have become so to this extent. Granted, a dalliance of sorts has been known to happen before, but for my daughter to contemplate a long-term relationship, let alone marriage, with one of your kind - well, it's unheard of."

The King walked towards Red. "Lurvack was at least three rods taller than you. He was a trained master of the warrior caste before he became my vizier, one of the best in generations, undefeated in combat, until he met you."

Byrne shrugged. "When we fought, that guy was practically insane after what Blim did to him. But even if he hadn't been, he was hurting Ametila."

"No further explanation required?" the King raised an eyebrow as he asked the question.

"No, sir."

"And him?"

Red looked at Blim's body. "He had to die for what he did to Ametila."

The King nodded approvingly. "I detect a Boston accent."

"Born and bred, sir."

"I know of the human clan named Byrne there, they have been in the banking business for a long time by human standards. If I recall correctly, Nathan Byrne oversees my account through various middlemen," the King said musingly.

"He's my father, sir."

"You didn't enter into your family's trade?" the King asked Red challengingly.

"No, sir. I had my own path to follow."

A throaty chuckle was the response to that answer. "A rebel, I see. You and Ametila share that trait." Ametila's father then spat on Blim's body. "Under different circumstances I would say something about him being a true example of humanity, but then again he was part-demon."

The King then turned to Lilah. "Now as for you."

"Yes, your majesty?" Lilah asked way too calmly

"That *thing* was let loose upon my daughter because of you and your firm. Do not doubt for a moment how I plan on discussing that at great length with your Senior Partners."

"I understand, your majesty," the female attorney said rather fearfully.

"Also, you and yours may feel the desire to retaliate against Mr. Byrne for his actions this night. So inform your superiors that I would become most displeased if that should happen." The King looked at Red. "Well?"

Red seemed to straighten up. "I love your daughter, sir, and she loves me. I asked her to marry me not long ago, and Ametila said yes."

{Hmm, well, at least his intentions are honorable.} "And if I do not approve of your union?"

"Sir, I would really like for you to give us your blessing on this matter."

"That is not what I asked."

"I know. Still, sir, I really would like your approval. I know that Ametila wants it, and so do I. On account of we plan on getting married and spending the rest of our lives together, come what may."

Ametila's father smiled for the first time. "Then perhaps you'll do. My queen and I will have to visit the Byrne clan as soon as possible, and discuss this with your parents."

Red instantly had the same sinking feeling in his stomach, which he did when Ametila had voiced her desire to meet her future mother-in-law yesterday.

 **Near the corner of Gervais and Assembly Streets, Columbia, South Carolina. October 30, 2001**

Jackson Cleburne looked out of his office window, down at the grounds of the South Carolina state capitol building. The view was one of the perks of being a rising star in the law firm he was employed by.

He then looked back towards his desk as the intercom buzzed. "Yes, Rebecca?"

"Mr. Cleburne, your three-thirty appointment is here."

"Good, send her in." He stood up and walked to the door. When he was about halfway there, the door opened and Rebecca, a middle-aged woman dressed as an executive assistant, showed in a young blonde female in a smart business suit.

"Ms. Carter, good to meet you," Cleburne said politely, as he showed her to the chair in front of his desk.

"I'm glad you could see me on such short notice, sir," Monica Carter said as she sat down, showing a fair amount of leg.

Jackson sat down in the chair opposite from her. "My pleasure, although I must say I'm a little surprised that someone from the University of Georgia newspaper would come all the way to South Carolina to do a story about alumni involvement in college."

"Well, when I got started on the story, I pulled the list of those who were provided field passes by the UG football team, including those who were from other schools. I saw your name listed for the September 8th game."

Jackson shrugged. "Well, the alumni relations office at USC was most helpful in getting me tickets to the game. The field passes were just the icing on the cake, I suppose."

For a while, Monica and Jackson continued the conversation as to the obtaining of the field passes and Jackson's relations with his old alumna mater, Monica taking notes the whole time. "So, does your family share in your good fortune with USC, or is it just your friends from college?" Monica finally asked.

"Well, most of my family are Gamecocks," Jackson said with a smile. "We like to go to their games whenever we get the chance."

"So, then, did you and your family enjoy the recent USC-Georgia game?"

Jackson shook his head. "I couldn't make it to that game, actually. One of my brothers went in my place."

Monica nodded. "I don't suppose I can meet up with him at some point to get his input? Maybe some quotes or a photograph?" Here at last was the purpose of her visit, to forge another step closer to her objective.

Which was, to put it bluntly, to locate the one and only Xander Harris - who was the best lay Monica Carter had ever had.

Now so far Monica had been very subtle in her inquiries, in the way that young attractive women often were. However, Jackson Cleburne was subtle himself - as one did not get as far as he had in the legal business without knowing how to spot a trap, even if he wasn't sure yet whom it was for.

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now. He's overseas, what with the current world situation and everything," Jackson Cleburne said politely in response to Monica's question, his eyes were narrowed somewhat.

"Oh, he's in the army?" the blonde woman asked courteously.

"Something like that." Jackson looked at his watch. "Now if you'll excuse me Ms. Carter, as much as I have enjoyed the company of a lovely young woman like yourself, I have many clients who are extremely demanding of my time," he said with a smile as he stood up.

Monica did likewise and held out her hand. "Of course, and I do appreciate your time today. Oh, and if you should be able to have your brother contact me for that quote, I would be most grateful," she said with a dazzling smile.

After she left the room, Jackson looked out the window and waited a few minutes until he was sure Monica had gone. He then picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Jacob? Yeah, it's me. Look, any chance you know where Joshua is? Because I think our brother's gone and gotten himself into yet *another* mess lately."

 **Representative Nathan Blim's office, Washington D.C. October 31, 2001**

"Damn it, I don't want to hear some half-assed explanations!" Nathan Blim shouted as he threw a silver pen at one of the aides in his office. "What I want to know is, why can't you find out where exactly Billy's body is? Why can't you find out who killed him, either? I went to a lot of trouble to bring him back into the fold, and you all screw up like this? What the hell am I paying you people for?!"

"Sir, I'm afraid none of our usual sources are talking. All we've been able to learn so far is a rumor about the body being declared a health hazard," an aide managed to reply. As he finished that, the office door opened and a worried-looking secretary looked in.

"WHAT?!" Blim shouted at her.

"Sir, there's, uh, well, the, the..." the secretary stammered.

"Goddamn it, am I surrounded by morons?!" Blim growled and slammed his hands on the desk.

"Fuck you, asshole."

Blim looked up, red-faced and about to tear into whoever had dared talked to him like that. However, whatever he was going to say died on his lips as the Congressman saw just who was entering his office.

"Get out. All of you. Right now," The new arrival barked to Blim's staff as he came through the door, followed by two other people. The aides instantly scurried out of the room in response to the visitor's 'request'.

Cleburne shut the door behind the last aide, ignoring the mandatory Secret Service guard. {This ought to be good.}

"Mr. Vice President," Nathan finally managed to say as Dick Cheney walked towards his desk.

"Blim, let's get something straight right now. I never liked you when I was a Representative, and it's nice to know my instincts were absolutely right about you all along."

Nathan didn't let that faze him. "I don't know if you've heard, sir, but recently a tragic loss concerning my family has taken place in-"

"Oh yes, the late Billy Blim. Still, I wonder if even you are mourning his loss all that much."

Blim blinked, amazed at Cheney's comment. "He was my nephew, Mr. Vice President."

"Can't account for family," Cleburne said. Cheney looked at him, and Cleburne instantly shut up. The Marine colonel then handed a folder to Cheney, and the deputy leader of the nation turned back to Nathan Blim.

"William Blim. According to this, he spread problems and hatred everywhere he went," Cheney briefly perused the folder. "He was arrested in Los Angeles the other day on suspicion of murder, even if he never made it to the stationhouse and that little incident never made the papers. Still, the police and autopsy reports tell quite a story, and a rather gruesome story at that."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Cheney smiled in way that almost looked like a snarl. "Of course you don't. Somehow, I suspect that you honestly don't want to acknowledge just what that boy really was."

Comprehension came to the Congressman. "You and your spooks, you're the one who declared Billy's remains a health hazard. How dare you-"

"Come on, Blim, you know exactly what he could do. The rules you told your family members to follow when dealing with him? They were quite detailed. So get off your moralistic high horse - we both know you didn't do anything to protect the public from him."

"Billy was a Blim, a gifted child, someone who deserved better than what you and your goons did to him!" Nathan stated angrily.

"Billy Blim was a pitiful individual who wasn't man enough to do his own violence. A manipulator who hid behind his puppets. I for one doubt that he'll be missed all that much," Cheney fired back, a mean look on his face.

"How dare you - I don't care who you are or what political office you hold, you can't say that to me. Do you know who I am?" That brought two snorts in response, but the Representative kept going. "I'm Nathan Blim, my family is one of premiere families in the country, one of the most powerful!"

"Keep going like that and you'll discover how there's always someone bigger than you," Cheney replied. "You've been asking questions, Blim, in fact you gave Director Tenet quite a grilling at that hearing the other day."

Blim blinked as Cheney went on, "Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how someone wants to know how we learned all about the upcoming 9/11 attacks. They don't want to be publicly exposed asking the questions, so they have their minions do the dirty work."

"I am no one's minion!" Blim hissed out.

"Future knowledge, that's the answer you're looking for. We actually thought about bringing him here to confront you with it, seeing is believing and all. However, it was decided that that would be too much of a security risk," Cheney pronounced.

Blim looked at the U.S. Vice President in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Well, in light of what's about to happen, we thought we should let you have one answer, for all the good it will do you." Cheney took some more papers from the folder. "Blim, a family like yours has a lot of history." He placed some of the papers on the desk. "One almost as long as the United States itself, and a lot of stories go with that. Stories of murder, vice, thievery and attempted cover-ups of quite a number of crimes."

Blim was starting to get nervous, even if there was no visible sign of it. "In the past, people have tried to generate vicious rumors and smear campaigns about me and my family."

"They're only rumors and smear campaigns until the proof appears, some of it recent." Cheney put some of the papers on the desk. "Some of it relates to you, personally."

Blim kept silent as Cheney put the rest of the papers on the desk. "As you can no doubt guess, these are not the only copies. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending you don't know where the other copies are."

"Why?" Blim managed to ask.

"Two reasons. First off, you were digging into things that are best not known. Now, at first glance it would seem that you were just trying to make political hay while the sun shines. However, we know better - you're the front man for someone. Someone that knows how to cover their tracks, so at this point, all we can do is make it more difficult for them. They'll have to find someone else to do their dirty work from now on."

Cheney started walking around the office, looking at the various pictures on the wall. "Of course, it might be problematic to find someone willing to take all the possible heat, considering what's about to happen to you and your family."

Blim gritted his teeth. He forced away visions of ruinous scandal that would soon drive him out of office as he said, "And the second reason?"

Cheney looked at Blim. "Like I said when I first came in here, I don't like you. Never have, never will." He turned around and started walking to the door. "I would say have a nice life, but then that would be awfully hypocritical of me." Cleburne opened the door and Cheney walked through. Cleburne looked at Blim for a second, smirked and then he followed Cheney and the Secret Service man out.

In the outer office, the rest of the Secret Service detail surrounded the Vice President. They walked down the office hallway, alert for danger at all times.

"You're leaving for Russia tomorrow, right?" Cheney asked Cleburne suddenly.

"Yes, sir, first thing in the morning."

"Still taking *him* with you?" the Vice President demanded.

"Well, sir, that is the whole point of our little visit. General Nosenko asked for him, and Monsignor Bentallo says that the prophecy specifically refers to him, so there's little reason in going to Russia without Lt. Howard."

"You're relying on a prophecy?" Cheney asked disapprovingly, overlooking the use of Xander's current alias instead of his real name.

"I'll admit it is somewhat unusual, sir, because nowadays we usually rely on future knowledge with regards to this sort of thing."

Cheney stopped for a second and looked at Cleburne, the security detail also freezing in their tracks. Then they all started walking again as Cheney said, "Don't get cute with me, Colonel. Just make sure you don't screw up on Russian soil."

"Don't worry, sir, we'll be back from Moscow almost before you know it," Cleburne had a small smile on his face

"I'll hold you to that."

 **Outside 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. Later that night**

Halloween. A public holiday that had its roots in ancient autumn festivals for warding off evil spirits, it was a night for children everywhere to dress up in costumes and go trick o' treating, asking for sweets or candy.

And every two years or so, it was also a night for mayhem and chaos to befall the good old Scooby gang in Sunnydale.

Granted, this year's Halloween was a lot different than what it otherwise might have been. For example, Xander wasn't present in town and Anya would not be making any announcements regarding her upcoming nuptials with him. Oddly enough, the former vengeance demon was still together with Andrew at this point, even if everybody knew how their relationship was slowly but surely sliding down into the gutter.

Willow and Tara were somewhat better off - thanks to the contents of Xander's third letter, Miss Rosenberg was doing everything she could to avoid the breakup with her girlfriend which her first love had prophesised was coming soon. It was hard to tell if she would succeed or not, but one had to give Willow points for effort and all that.

Joyce Summers was still alive, and her worry over Dawn was enough to prevent the Key from trying to pull a fast one tonight like what had happened in the original history. Nonetheless, Josef Lemke - having been briefed by Xander on what might happen - was standing guard outside the Summers residence, keeping an eye out for Dawn in order to follow her if she left the house.

He felt his cell phone buzzing. He answered it, "Yes?"

"You're wasting your time. She's not going anywhere tonight," a young female voice said.

Lemke, startled, paused a second before he responded, "Excuse me? Miss, who are you? And how did you get this number?"

"Not yet," was the answer, then a cough was heard. Then the female teen said, "Listen to me. Right now, Dawn Summers is arguing with her sister Buffy, she's saying..."

Cassie Newton, laying in her hospital bed, closed her eyes, and timed it just right to be in sync with Dawn: "You're not my mother! Because hey, I don't really have parents..."

Lemke was confused. "How you could possibly know that?"

"They know about you, by the way. Or at least they suspect you of being in cahoots with the people Mrs. Summers met recently in Washington, despite how much they like you and consider you a friend," Cassie told the big Polack, even if she didn't directly answer his question. "I don't know if anyone's told you, so I thought I'd mention it just in case."

She continued on, "However, that's not important right now. You need to go somewhere else. There's a problem that you need to personally address."

"Why me?" Lemke asked suspiciously.

"Because I know you can handle it, the same way I knew your cell phone number."

 **Weatherly Park, Sunnydale, California. A while later**

The young woman named Janice Penshaw had grown tired of waiting for Dawn to join her for their unauthorized Halloween jaunt tonight, and so she was making her way to the two boys in the park with a disappointed expression on her face. {Damn it, Dawn, I hope the Mominator didn't make you talk about our plans for this evening.}

She needn't have worried; like any healthy female teen in southern California, Dawn had a rebellious streak a mile wide and could easily resist confiding secrets to the parental units. Even if these days, the younger Miss Summers wasn't entirely sure just who qualified for those roles anymore. But Janice knew nothing about all that; all she knew was that her partner-in-crime had failed to show up, and now she was in danger of getting ditched by her date for the evening.

The two male teens, whose names were Justin and Zack, were horsing around the way a pair of guys often will. Justin threw something at Zack, who then threw it right back at him.

"To infinity and - ow!" Zack yelped in pain as the next missile hit him directly where it hurt.

"Oops," Justin said sarcastically, ignoring his buddy's glare.

"Nice shot," Janice commented, as she came up to the male pair.

Zack jumped down from the swing, and he and Justin walked over to the girl. "Hey baby," Zack said warmly, hugging Janice.

"Hey," Janice said as she hugged him back. Then she looked at him with a frown, "Cold hands tonight, huh?"

Zack shrugged and asked, "So what took you so long?"

"Eh, Dawn didn't show up where and when we planned to meet. Sorry," she said to him apologetically.

"Damn. I was *so* looking forward to meeting her," Justin sighed.

"Sorry, dude. But you know what they say - three's a crowd," Zack told him meaningfully. "Catch you later."

Justin grinned. "Hey, I can share. I promise you, I don't mind."

"You wanna share her with me? Dude, have you no self-respect?" Zack asked in annoyance.

Janice frowned. "Share me, you make me sound like-"

"A Happy Meal, something to eat? Yeah, I guess so," Zack said as he morphed into his game face.

Justin did likewise. "We can always get more to eat later on tonight, lots of other little Happy Meals in costume running around!"

Janice screamed as she saw their faces and Justin grabbed her. But then, the sound of a muffled gunshot rang out.

"What the-?" Zack said in shock as the vampire collapsed into ash, an explosive bullet piercing his skull and vaporizing his entire head.

Janice continued screaming her lungs out. "SHUT UP!" Justin shouted as he looked around, trying to figure out what had happened to his friend.

Holding Janice close to prevent her running away as well as using her as a shield, Justin looked around in the darkness of the night. "Okay, who's out there? Come out and lemme see you before the girl gets it!" He then muttered to himself, "Slayers using guns? That's different."

"What are you talking about?" Janice whispered. {It's a dream, a dream, just a bad dream, any moment I'll wake up safe and sound in my bed at home.}

"Be quiet," Justin ordered Janice roughly, before returning his attention to where he thought the shooter was. "So what's the dealio? I let her go, and you let me walk?"

"That old man, Mr. Kaltenbach?" a male voice spoke up out of the darkness. "You're not going to kill him tonight. Or the hostage you're currently holding."

"Just answer the goddamn question!" Justin demanded angrily, his hold on Janice slipping just a touch as he realized this wasn't the Slayer he was dealing with, after all.

Still, that was enough for the brunette female teenager to make a break for it; and as soon as Lemke had a clear line of fire, Justin joined Zack in the depths of Hell as the dust flew everywhere.

Badly traumatized, Janice started screaming all over again as she saw dust and blood covering her clothes. Lemke eventually stepped out of the shadows and said, "Miss Penshaw? Take my advice and head for the Summers residence, you'll be safe there."

Janice looked at him for a few seconds, and then still screaming she started running off into the night.

A cell phone started ringing. "Hello?" Lemke asked as he answered the phone.

"Well done. I knew you'd save her," Cassie's voice sounded a bit less hoarse now.

Lemke shrugged. "Thanks, I guess. So what now?"

"Buffy Summers will patrol after that girl arrives at her house, and she'll eventually take care of that gang of vampires over at the clearing near Lovers Lane. There's nothing more for you to do," Cassie told him.

"On the contrary, Miss Deep Throat Mystery Girl," Josef shook his head. "I think we need to have a long talk over just how you knew what you knew this evening, and who you are."

Cassie sighed as she watched the TV from the hospital bed. She'd known that this was coming, but that didn't mean she had to like it. "You've got questions, please - fire away."

"First, tell me how you got this phone number."

"Because you gave it to me. Or you will give it to me. Whatever."

Lemke didn't get that. "And who exactly are you?"

"For now - let's just say I know things, I see and hear things, and leave it at that." She then hung up without another word.

"Hello? Hello?" Lemke stared at his cell phone, cursing himself for not having put in a request to STW on the way here for a tracer to be put on his cell. "Aw, crap. I betcha eventually, this is all gonna blow up in my face somehow."

TBC...


	17. Chapter 17

**Part Fifty-Five**

 **Sheremetyevo International Airport, Moscow, Russia. November 1, 2001**

Xander pulled his coat tightly around him as he stepped off the plane. He had never been to this part of the planet before, and the local weather was cold enough to make him wish he'd dressed more appropriately for the occasion.

It had been a rather boring flight across the pond, to be honest, and so Harris had had a chance to catch up on all the news after helping Oz and Fred and Malcolm Fletcher take care of a demon drug ring in Arizona. The biggest news was the scandal concerning Congressman Nathan Blim, of course, the man who had been forced to go into hiding in order to escape the jackals of the press; but that wasn't the only news Xander was interested in.

{Not that I'm not glad Dawn's friend is okay and Lemke took care of those bloodsuckers,} Xander thought to himself as he walked down the stairs. {But who the hell was it who tipped him off last night? No one poked their nose in like that during the first go-around...and Lemke's report said that the voice on the phone sounded like it was a female version of *me* or something! Ah well, hopefully Mrs. Marcum can come up with some answers by the time we get back to the States.}

Xander shook his head and tried to focus on the here and now. Cleburne and Gunny were going down the stairs, a few steps ahead of him. Behind Xander was Alan Smithers, the liaison from the Council. They were all dressed in civilian clothes, even the Marines; better for everyone to be incognito for this little trip, or so the thinking in the Committee went.

At the bottom of the stairs was an old man in Russian Army uniform, he had a younger man and a young woman next to him. Both aides were also in uniform.

The old man spoke first. "General Joshua Cleburne, congratulations on getting your first star so young in life," he said in a loud booming voice, spreading his arms out and hugging Cleburne in the traditional Russian way.

The Americans were surprised, especially Cleburne; who was in fact barely in his 40's. "I'm sorry if there's been some confusion, General Nosenko, but I'm just a lowly colonel." Joshua started to say.

Nosenko laughed with a loud gusto, as the officers alongside him grinned politely. "Ah, but your name was sent to the relevant Senate committee with the promotions list yesterday. No doubt they will all vote in your favor tomorrow, although I suspect that your 'friend' Representative Blim would prefer otherwise."

Cleburne raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know this?"

Nosenko laughed more softly this time. "Old habits die hard, tovarisch. Just because the Cold War is over, that doesn't mean we go out of the trade anymore than you do." He looked past Cleburne at Xander. "So, this is the young Comrade Harris who has had everyone in an uproar for the past two years, hmm?"

"It's First Lieutenant Alexander Howard, General," was Xander's reply as he saluted. He recognized the red stars on the man's shoulders.

"Da, of course it is. As I said, I have heard quite a bit about you and your exploits." The old man continued smiling. "Very well, names mean little in this business. Lieutenant Howard, welcome to Mother Russia."

He turned to the third of the quartet that had just got off the plane. "Sergeant Charles Rose, I believe? Dobri dyen, it is good to meet you as well." Nosenko nodded at Gunny.

"General," Gunny saluted like Xander had.

Nosenko looked at Smithers. "You I don't recognize."

"Alan Smithers," the British man introduced himself, but Nosenko still looked confused. "I'm on secondment from the Watchers Council."

"Ah, yes, the tweed-wearing ones," the Russian general laughed loudly again. "Well, come, let's get somewhere warmer and I'll tell you what in Russia cries out for your attention."

 **Security Service Building, Kirov Street, Moscow. An hour later**

"Chicken legs?" Cleburne asked with a tone of disbelief.

"Yes, he is quite clear on the fact that they were chicken legs," the female Russian Army officer, a redhead, said with a tiny smirk. She clearly was enjoying Cleburne's irritation.

The man who was the cause of this irritation sat in the middle of the room in a chair. His hands were gripped around the brim of a hat he was holding. His eyes darted around the room from person to person.

Xander was standing in the corner of the room with Gunny and Smithers standing next to him. Harris said, "So, this guy was driving his truck in the middle of the night - and a cabin ran across the road right in front of him. Thatched roof, walls made of what looked like hardened mud, square windows, and a big wooden door - plus chicken legs on all four corners of the cabin. So did you check for vodka bottles, or anything like that?"

"Baba Yaga," Smithers said, ignoring that question as the civilian was escorted from the room.

"Excuse me?" Cleburne said with a glare.

"Yes, Comrade Smithers, that is also our thinking. Baba Yaga," Nosenko said, nodding his head.

"Okay, for those us who have no idea what that means, would someone care to fill in the blanks?" Cleburne asked, still glaring at Smithers.

Smithers sighed. "We're talking about a witch that has had many names over the past ten thousand years, according to Council records. But according to Russian folklore, her most common name is Baba Yaga. A woman usually described an ugly old hag who eats people and lives deep in the woods: in a mobile hut or cabin, which stands on chicken legs."

"You mean stilts painted to look like chicken legs," Cleburne said.

"No, actual chicken legs. Why do you have trouble believing that?"

Cleburne scoffed at Smithers' question. "Because it doesn't make any sense? Come on, it's impossible for a cabin to grow chicken legs!"

"Says the man who hangs out with a time traveler, a werewolf and a woman who builds flamethrowers out of household appliances." Xander wisecracked. Gunny, Smithers and the Russian Army female officer all smiled.

Nosenko laughed out loud again. "I like him. Are you sure there's no Russian blood flowing in your veins, Lt. Howard?"

"No - or at least not if you don't count that incident back in high school with those Russian steroids, and me almost turning into a fish monster," Xander replied with a grimace, as the general's aides briefly stared at each other in alarm. They had both heard of and dealt with the unfortunate 'volunteers' from that research program way back when.

"Hey, I'm sure we don't need to get into *that* right now. I swear, kid, your life is a pain in the ass sometimes! My ass amongst many others," Cleburne muttered, before turning back to Nosenko. "So why call us if this thing is, ah, folklore? Folk tales take awhile to develop. Somehow, I don't think you're calling us in now for a tale years in the making. The hotline works pretty well and won't take years to catch up with us."

"Sightings of the Baba Yaga have taken place over the years, but never in a discernible pattern," the male Army officer replied.

"And now?" Smithers asked.

"Sightings have increased during the last two months or so, and they seem to be following a specific direction," the female Russian Army officer answered. "They started out near the Pripet Marshes, and have been heading steadily east."

"Normally Baba Yaga tends to avoid contact with civilization, going out of her way to remain unnoticed. She was quite reclusive," Nosenko admitted. "Seeing her or her cabin was a unique experience, the stuff of legend. Now, it has happened so much that we can chart the sightings." He gestured at a chart they had put up on the wall.

Xander and Cleburne walked over to look at the chart. They looked at it for a few moments. Xander spoke up, "The Pripet Marshes was where that hut of hers was first started being seen regularly, right?"

"Yes, the first sighting was north of Kiev heading west. It took place during September 11th," the redheaded Russian Army officer smiled as she answered Xander's question.

Cleburne rolled his eyes after witnessing that. {Typical, I should have known they'd get someone to try to 'charm' Harris as soon as possible!}

Xander's fingers traced over the various marks on the map, ignoring the smile. "Well, looks to me like she's headed east, straight towards Moscow."

"Da, that was also our conclusion," General Nosenko walked to the map. "That was one of the reasons we asked for your assistance." 

Cleburne turned from the chart to look at Nosenko. "Ah, *one* of the reasons?"

"Well, when her cabin appears, Baba Yaga sometimes talks to the people she encounters."

Xander now turned to look at Nosenko. "And?"

"According to the witness testimony, she has said on more than one occasion that she looks forward to personally meeting the Timetripper; and that she hopes he comes to visit her soon."

Cleburne rolled his eyes again. "Jesus, kid, you and your fan club."

 **U.S. Embassy building, Moscow, Russia. A while later**

"So, she wants to meet me. I mean, it's not like I haven't had people wanting to meet me before," Xander said with a shrug.

"Yeah, remember that time in Japan? That demon lady Yama Uba, she wanted to meet with you too," Cleburne said grumpily.

"Ancient history," Xander said with a dismissive hand wave. That had been almost exactly a year ago, after all.

"Yama Uba?" Smithers asked politely, the name being unfamiliar to him.

"She's dead and gone now, doesn't matter. Believe me, it's not worth going into right at the moment," Cleburne said in a rather clipped voice.

The group was in the 'safe room' in the U.S. embassy in Moscow. The room was called that because it was checked regularly for listening devices, and was considered one of the safest places to meet in Moscow without being overheard by prying ears.

"He's right. Besides, right now we need to focus on this Baba Yaga character. Anything else you can tell us about her?" Xander asked Smithers.

"Nothing major comes to mind. There are several tales in the Russian folklore, as I said before - her encounters with the Russians known as Bulat the Brave and Koschei the Deathless, for example, but I rather suspect they're not really relevant right now." Smithers frowned, "What *is* relevant is that Baba Yaga is willing to come out of hiding in order to talk to you."

"Yeah, I figure most people who live in walking cabins with chicken legs don't typically advertise their presence. I'm thinking this is the first time you've ever had a person like that come a-looking for you," Cleburne commented.

"Guess I can't argue with that one. Even Sunnydale never got to that level of weirdness," Xander replied with another shrug. "You know, some days I would like to live a normal life, I really would."

"I rather doubt that will happen anytime soon," Smithers said. "Still, it is fascinating that a legendary figure such as Baba Yaga wants to meet you."

"Hey - did I or did I not just say that I have real problems with the idea of the witch in the walking cabin looking for the kid?" Cleburne looked annoyed

"Yes, General, you have pointed that out." Smithers replied.

"Colonel," Cleburne corrected Alan instantly; he was never one to count his chickens before they were hatched.

"Very well, Colonel. But as I was saying, I think something of higher concern should be just *why* Baba Yaga is looking for Mr. Harris here."

"There's a lot of people and/or demons out there looking for me, why should she be any different?" Xander wanted to know.

"Well, considering how most of the demons looking for you seem to have evil intentions 'n all, I figure it'd be best if she doesn't meet you, or at least nowhere where we're not in full control of the situation!"

Smithers looked at Cleburne and then turned to Xander. "Is he always like this?"

Gunny finally spoke up from his place in the corner, "Oh, he's gotten better over the years; you should have seen what Colonel Cleburne was like back in the Eighties."

Cleburne looked annoyed at his second-in-command. "Oh, har-de-har-har Gunny. Should I mention the haircut *you* had back in the Eighties? However, my point remains; I don't want the evil witch having a free shot at the kid until we know what her intentions are!"

"Not all witches are evil," Xander declared. "Besides, apparently she just wants to meet 'n talk. Nobody's said anything about her wanting to hurt me."

"It's called taking you by surprise, kid."

"You don't generally invite someone to a sneak attack, sir," Gunny commented.

"Yeah, call me an optimist; but I just don't get the vibe of her wanting to harm me on this one," Xander shook his head slowly.

"And you have such a great track record on that sort of thing!"

Xander looked at Cleburne. "Well, I think things turned out pretty well in Idaho."

Smithers looked at Xander. "Idaho? That was *you* with that demon tribe and that demon rights activist, what was his name - Dupree?"

Cleburne shook his head angrily over all the distractions. "People, let's focus here. We're talking about why the kid is not gonna be a human target on my watch, remember?"

"So why am I in Russia, then?" Xander said suddenly. "I mean, Monsignor Bentallo told us there was an ancient manuscript or whatever that said I was supposed to go to Russia at this point. The writing by that monk talked about how 'the one displaced in time', which is a pretty good description of me, 'is to go to the eastern land of forests', which is what Russia used to be called back then. Sounds to me like I'm meant to be here, there's something I'm meant to do."

Cleburne frowned, but Xander kept on going before he could be interrupted. "Come on, Cleburne! It's just like that time in England, when we met Drogyn and his demons in that forest while we were looking for the Deeper Well and the Holy Grail. I can't do whatever it is I'm supposed to do if I just sit here in this glorified fishbowl! Right now, this Baba Yaga lady sounds like the best shot for me doing whatever it is I need to do."

"The lieutenant has a point, Colonel," Gunny piped up.

Cleburne looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. "I know, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. All right, fine; how do you propose we find this walking cabin?"

Xander looked from person to person in the chamber. "Well - back in Sunnydale, if you wanted to find a demon the best place to start looking was in a bar."

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. November 2, 2001**

Cordelia Chase was starting to get bored, even if she knew just how dangerous that attitude was in her line of work.

It had been a little *too* quiet around here at Angel Investigations, ever since that 'incident' a few nights ago with that guy Billy Blim. Angel had refused to answer her questions about who was the man that had finally shot the misogynist at the airport, and why the ensouled vampire had instantly turned tail and run when the words 'Mother Hen' had been uttered, dragging her along.

It had surely pissed off the beauty queen when her undead boss either couldn't or wouldn't fill in the blanks; it reminded her of the huge lie Angel had perpetrated for two years.

The one where Xander Harris was still alive and kicking, that is.

{I just *bet* that that mysterious stranger from the other night was involved with the dorkhead somehow,} Cordy thought to herself, her thoughts drifting to her ex-boyfriend; the same man she'd had utterly no luck in finding ever since 9/11. {It's exactly the sort of thing Xander would get involved with.}

"Ah, Cordelia, there you are," Wesley Wyndham-Pryce said absently, as he came in from the kitchen and saw the former Queen C sorting through the mail.

"Yes, here I am. Wes, what's up with you? You look like you slept in your clothes last night," Cordelia frowned, taking in the Englishman's rather scruffy appearance.

Wesley collapsed down on to the couch, and waited to speak until Cordelia had joined him there. "I did. I've been researching."

"Researching what?" Cordy raised an elegantly plucked eyebrow.

Wesley frowned. "Darla is well into her third trimester now; it should be only a matter of weeks before she finally gives birth. That's part of what's worrying me."

"What do you mean? Cause women have been giving birth for like millions of years," Cordelia said, looking confused.

Wesley restrained the desire to snap at her for being dense. "Not like this! Cordelia, no female vampire has *ever* gotten pregnant and given birth before, this is all totally unchartered territory. There's been nothing like this throughout recorded history; I still don't understand it, Connor's very existence should have been impossible!"

"But both of the parents aren't, y'know, normal vampires," Cordelia argued. "I mean, with their souls and everything."

"It doesn't matter - vampire physiology is such the presence of a soul shouldn't make any difference. As far as I was aware, one of the most fundamental laws of this universe is that life simply cannot arise out of death," Wes sighed. "And yet, here we are."

"You're worried about what's going to happen when the big day finally arrives?" Miss Chase asked.

"That, as well as afterwards. Wolfram & Hart may have kept their distance over the last few months, but I rather doubt they'll be able to resist trying to grab the baby after it's born; it's pretty much a given that the Senior Partners have been making plans to deal with Connor's arrival into this world. And there's also all the others we'll have to cope with, of course; the Scourge, the Order of Phillius, Beltar the Cremator and those vampire worshippers, to name but a few."

"Well, Angel and Darla will think of something. It's their kid, after all," Cordelia offered with a shrug.

"Yes, but the odds are not on their - our - side," Wes said pessimistically. "We need more information, damn it. I thought surely there had to be more prophecies for such an unprecedented occurrence as this, but so far I've come up with bugger all."

"Well, keep at it, soldier," Cordelia said comfortingly as she rose to go back to the mail. "The way our lives work, I'm sure you'll soon find something somewhere. At the worst possible moment, granted, but still." She started sorting through the mail again, stopping suddenly and turning white when she did.

Wesley noticed. "What's wrong?"

"It's a letter for me, from the IRS."

 **1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. November 3, 2001**

Dawn Summers glared at her mother Joyce and her sister Buffy, unable to believe she'd been grounded for something she hadn't even done back on Halloween night; namely, sneak out of the house and have some fun with her friend Janice Penshaw. The hysterical girl had unfortunately spilled *everything* after she'd arrived at the house that evening.

{Where's Xander to help me bust out of prison when I need him?} the Key thought morosely to herself.

 **Hotel lounge, Orel, Russia. November 4, 2001**

"There's been another sighting."

Xander and the others looked up as the female Russian Army officer - the redhead who was named Anna - walked into the lounge where they were waiting.

Over the past three days it had actually taken more than one demon bar to try to pin down Baba Yaga's location, it had taken visits to a grand total of four. They'd started in Moscow and worked their way towards the southwest, the demon bars getting smaller and smaller as the group had progressed. However, the smaller the demon bar, the more information they got.

The Siberians - even though the Russians were clearly not amused by that name - were being accompanied on their trip by Anna. She acted officially as their liaison with the Russian government and also, although no one actually said it out loud, as a convenient spy on the four foreign 'guests'.

Anyway, the information from the last bar had brought the Westerners here to the city of Orel. They'd been waiting for the results of a number of aerial flights sent up to see if Baba Yaga's cabin could be spotted from the air, the planes departing from an unmarked military airfield.

And now, it seemed success was finally at hand.

Xander answered Anna first, "Where and how far away?"

"About thirty kilometers southwest of here. A truck driver admitted to witnessing the presence of a building in the middle of the road, even though he was sure he was just seeing things. A recon plane flew over the road and spotted the cabin. It's still circling over the area."

"And the wicked witch of the East is where, exactly?" Cleburne asked.

"Still in the area, the cabin is walking around. As if it's waiting for something," Anna admitted.

"Or someone," Xander said, nodding. "Let's go find out."

 **Thirty kilometers southwest of Orel, Russia. A while later**

Xander held on tight as the vibrations almost shook him out of his chair. This chopper surely wasn't like the U.S. Army Blackhawk he had ridden to Idaho to deal with the Hellions, or the one he and Oz had used to chase that guy Jacob Crane back in March. "Shock absorbers, couldn't they have installed them on this thing?"

"The Red Army had other ideas in mind when they designed this helicopter, kid; like speed and efficiency," Cleburne commented. "They were never known to be big on personal comfort."

Anne spoke up, "We're over the area now."

Xander looked out over the landscape. He spotted a clearing where he saw several military vehicles with soldiers around them. {Huh, I didn't know we were gonna have company for this gig.}

Anne continued speaking, "I've arranged for backup, although the paratroopers seemed to find it hard to believe when they were told just what they were looking for."

"And why doesn't *that* surprise me?" Cleburne muttered, albeit too low for anyone to hear him over the racket produced by the helicopter.

The helicopter landed near the vehicles and the Siberians joined the paratroopers. A map was spread out, and one of the paratroop officers started pointing to places on the map as Anna translated what he had to say.

After everyone had received their assignments, they fanned out to search. The area had a lot of forest nearby. A short while later the Siberians, Anna and several paratroopers were waiting at the vehicles as the other soldiers fanned out in a search pattern.

"So what do we do if - or when - we find her?" Xander asked Cleburne.

"Why ask me, kid? You're the one the legend said needed to find her."

Xander rolled his eyes. "No, it said I would be enlightened, not that I needed to find her."

"Are you sure that's not the same thing?" Smithers asked. "I would think that the discoverer is the one that almost always needs enlightenment."

"Honestly, dude, the only thing I need right now is a bit more time to work on that literature assignment," Xander groaned, attracting Anna's attention.

"The Wizard cracking the whip?" Gunny asked.

"Well, one of his colleagues, Dr. Gunderson? He has me writing about medieval French literature," Xander semi-complained.

"You should study Russian literature instead, it is much more moving," Anna said with a smile.

"Yeah, well, I tried to read 'War And Peace' and 'Anna Karenina' when I was in high school. Never did get that far with either of 'em," Xander said musingly, thinking back to the days when he was a senior and Faith's boyfriend - before he had ended up in that demon hell dimension.

"You're a fan of Leo Tolstoy?" Anna asked, looking interested.

"Not really; all I know is, he wrote books about women who came to a bad end if they didn't obey the rules. Most of the femmes I know, they *love* breaking the rules and kicking ass when someone tells them what to do and how to act," Xander replied, sending Anna a curious look and trying not to think too much about Buffy, Willow and Cordelia.

"IF we could get back on topic," Cleburne growled, feeling his ulcer getting worse.

"Yes, Baba Yaga. As a Watcher, I must admit - I'm rather looking forward to this," Smithers said enthusiastically. "The chance to talk to someone that old, and that powerful; it's the opportunity of a lifetime. Assuming she deigns to speak to any of us apart from Lt. Howard, of course," he gestured to Xander.

"Let me guess, you have a tweed suit at home?" Xander asked.

Smithers looked a little surprised. "No, I never could get comfortable wearing tweed. Besides, that sort of clothing reminds me of Quentin Travers too much."

Cleburne looked around. "Hey!"

"Travers, huh? You had a run-in with him?"

Smithers nodded in response to Xander's question. "Oh yes, we had quite the disagreement over the direction he was taking the Watchers. So I left the Council, and only came back after he was removed from the organization. I take it you've met him before?"

"Oh yeah, we've had our own disagreements," Xander observed drily.

"People, I said 'hey!' for a reason!" Cleburne spoke up again in annoyance.

"What is it?" Xander looked around.

"Look!" Cleburne pointed at the perimeter where a wave of fog was rolling in at an unnatural speed.

"Now, that's different," Xander commented as they were enveloped by the fog.

Anna listened to a radio for a second and then spoke up, "It's localized. The search parties report we're the only ones covered by fog." She looked around as the ground shook. "What was that?"

"Me being proven right, damn it, I hate it when that happens!" Cleburne shouted. He shouted a couple of phrases in Russian and then he switched back to English. "We're under attack, keep a sharp eye out!"

The ground shook again, briefly.

"Earthquake?"

Anna shook her head in response to Xander's question, even though it was getting hard to see her face. "I've never heard of earthquakes in this area before."

"Like there's never been a walking cabin with chicken feet around here before!" Xander shouted back as he scanned the surrounding area.

"Agreed."

They heard a panicked shout and turned in response to it. "What was that?" Xander asked.

"Chicken legs, they're yelling about chicken legs," Cleburne responded. The ground shook again and Xander lost his balance, as the epicenter of the quake - or whatever it was - seemed to be directly underneath his feet.

He got back up and saw that the fog had surrounded him and the others. Harris couldn't see any of the others anymore. "Hey! Hey! Anyone?!"

The ground shook again, harder than before. Xander turned and his eyes widened. In front of him was a huge chicken leg, at the top of which he could see a wooden platform.

"No frickin' way."

The so-called Timetripper heard a series of gunshots, but the chicken leg stepped up and moved forward. Xander threw up his arms as the leg came towards him - and then everything went black.

 **Mobile residence of the Baba Yaga, Russia. A while later**

"Owwww," Xander's hand went to his forehead as he groaned. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a big room; there was a big table in the middle, and a number of stools were set around it. He was alone in the room, which was not a good omen in Xander's book. He quickly clambered to his feet.

"Hello? Hello!" Xander walked unsteadily over to a window he had spotted. He looked out and saw he was well above the ground and moving.

"Oh, crap," Harris muttered as he realized he was in Baba Yaga's cabin. "This can't be good."

He looked around to see what was present that he could use. He was still carrying his holstered pistol and his radio. {Shoulda brought Fred's special rifle with me, damn it!} Since there was nothing to aim at with the pistol, Xander went ahead and used the radio.

"This is Lt. Alexander Howard, Can anyone hear me?" He waited for a minute, but got no response. Xander then looked over at the far wall where there was a door.

"Well, she does want to talk to me, so I guess I should go find her and introduce myself." So Xander went through the door and found himself in a long hallway, which he started walking down. His stepped on the wooden floor echoed down the hallway. After a short distance, Xander stopped and looked around.

"Wait a minute. This is an awfully big hallway for the size of a cabin everyone's been describing to me lately." He walked a little bit further. "Hello? Hello?" Xander noticed several doors further down the hallway. He knocked on the closest one.

"Candy-gram for Mr. Mongo!"

Silence.

"Yeah, that never works."

Xander pushed open the door and looked in. The room was full of pots and pans, some of them bubbling with strange liquids. He stepped into the room. "What's for dinner?"

"Something Russian like borscht, I'll betcha."

Xander looked at the other end of the room, where Cleburne was walking along the table. "I was wondering when I was going to find you in here, kid."

"Cleburne, what happened?"

"Well, in a nutshell, the pseudo-chicken cabin came rampaging through where we were, knocked you around a bit and then picked you up. It scattered the paratroopers and then started off back into the woods."

"And you?"

"Hitched a ride, I didn't want to have to explain to the Wizard and Marcum how I ended up losing you."

"And, this thing about losing yourself?"

"Not my first time, kid," Cleburne looked around. "Now, about getting you out of here."

"Are you not going to at least say hello first?"

The two men turned around in response to the question, which had been spoken with a thick Russian accent. Standing there behind them was a *very* beautiful woman.

"Okay, hello."

The dark-haired woman smiled in response to Xander's greeting. She started walking along a table, checking on the pots and pans as she did so. "Greetings, and welcome to my humble home."

Xander and Cleburne exchanged a glance. "Baba Yaga?" Xander asked cautiously.

"You seem to be surprised by me," the woman said, as she started working with her magic potions.

"We were told that you were an old hag who ate people," Cleburne replied.

"Well, I don't want to be bothered by men interested in a woman who looks such as me," Baba Yaga said calmly.

Xander noticed something. "You didn't say anything about not eating people."

The woman just smiled in response.

"Yeah, never mind. Thing is we've heard that you like your privacy, and yet you invited me here, which - let's face it - is kind of an odd way of discouraging trespassers."

The Baba Yaga looked over one of the pans at Xander. "You I wanted to talk to." She then glanced at Cleburne, and then lazily waved her hand. "Alone, that is."

The Marine was flung through a nearby door which slammed shut once he was through. A few seconds later, muted cursing and pounding on the door could be heard. The witch waved her hand again and the noise stopped.

Xander raised an eyebrow.

"Spell of mute, it eliminates distracting noises," Baba Yaga explained. "Now, as for you and me."

"Alone at last?" 

Baba Yaga strolled towards Xander, smiling at his quip. "I can think of worse people to be alone with."

"Somehow, I think being alone with you would be interesting and dangerous at the same time." Baba Yaga grinned as Xander continued, "However, personally I prefer quiet and boring."

"That is not what I hear, your exploits are talked about all around the world."

"Don't believe everything you hear," Xander said as Baba Yaga came close to him, very close indeed. {Oh boy, this feels like it could be a situation - Houston, I think we may have a problem.}

But Baba Yaga just smiled again. "All legends have some basis in fact, Alexei Antoniovich - yes, I know who you are, and what is your real name. Always there is a kernel of truth involved. Why else would so many people believe vampires to be nothing more than a myth?"

"Point taken."

"Interesting and dangerous follows you around, I like that in a man. You...would be a most interesting companion for me." Baba Yaga seductively traced a line on Xander's cheek with her finger.

Xander stepped back, despite the effects of the gorgeous-looking Russian woman on his hormones. "Yeah, we're heading into that territory, huh? What is it with me and demons?"

Baba Yaga continued smiling. "I am not a demon."

"All right, witch then. I mean, hey - demons, witches, spies, seers, Slayers, or even former demons. Why is it that all the women who end up interested in my ass are always something - unusual?"

Baba Yaga stepped back and chuckled. "My spells have shown me your romantic history, Alexei. Both here and in the original history, your love life is indeed most - unusual. However, even I do not see clearly what the future holds for you. All I know is that it will not be me you will eventually bond with, it will be one of them."

Xander frowned, deep down he was shocked at the implications of that statement. "What?"

Baba Yaga didn't answer his question. "You are looking for the Spear."

Xander blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "Spear?"

"The Spear of Destiny, I know you and your friends are looking for it. I can help you find it, Alexei."

Xander looked around. "Right, I don't suppose you happen to have it lying around here somewhere?"

"Nyet, that is one trinket I do not have here. It has a terrible habit of attracting attention, you see. Between those questing for it and those who seek to destroy it, it would simply cause too much grief , I prefer to avoid human company, you see."

"And yet, here I am?"

The ten thousand-year-old witch smiled again in that sexual predator sort of way. "That is different. YOU are different, Alexei. You are something new under the sun, after all these millennia. That is why I wanted you here. I want to help you find the Spear of Destiny."

Xander shrugged, not completely convinced she was genuine. "In my experience, no one ever does something for nothing."

"Da, true enough. You will owe me a debt, and I will have my payment at some point. However, the price will not be an insurmountable one for you to pay."

"Okay, assuming this is all legit. Somehow, I get the feeling there are those who aren't gonna like you being on *my* side."

"Those you speak of, I may have to get along with them - but I am beholden to no one. My choices are my own, and always have been. Always will be." She stirred one of the cauldrons for a few seconds. "I consider you the better choice of options."

"Switching sides?"

Baba Yaga tasted one of her concoctions from the cauldron she'd been stirring. "Better to think of it as wanting the neighborhood to remain the same. I think you Americans call it not wanting the property value to go down."

"You know, the fact that you're worried about property values is not the most surprising thing I've learned today, is not surprising," Xander wisecracked.

Baba Yaga started smiling again. "I am full of surprises, Alexei. Some of them you surely will like, when it is time for my payment."

"Speaking of which?"

She nodded. "The Spear which pierced the side of Yeshua, two thousand years ago. I do not know exactly where it is. However, I can point you in the right direction."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Please, no cryptic stuff; that's all I ask. I had enough of that from Angel in the old days."

Baba Yaga raised an eyebrow. "Liam? Da, he has a way of saying a lot without saying anything. However, you need not worry, Alexei. I will be direct - I *am* Russian, after all."

She walked over to another table and started going through a pile of books that was there. "Where is it, it was here just last week." Finding her prize, the beautiful woman then handed Xander a book bound in green leather.

"Alexei, this is the writings of a monk named Josef. He lived in the 1500s, and he collected information about various holy relics. However, he did more than just sit in a monastery. Josef actually travelled, quested if you will, after some of the relics."

"The Spear of Destiny?"

Baba Yaga nodded. "One of his obsessions, it was. He brought home several relics, but never the Spear itself."

Xander nodded. "And this will help me, how?"

"It helps to know where not to look, cheeky little boy. That comes from knowing what has been tried before. Also, there is something interesting," Baba Yaga smiled. 

"Compared to, what, a mad Russian monk in a monastery reading piles of books for years on end? I think just about anything would be interesting."

"I told you, Josef did not just dwell within his monastery and read. He actually went out into the world, and searched it for himself. One of those trips might be of interest to you." Baba Yaga opened the book that Xander was holding and pointed to a specific page. "During the 16th century, he travelled to the Balkans to seek out the Spear of Destiny, based on information he had received."

Xander shrugged. "And he clearly came up empty, since no one knows where the Spear is."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Because after he returned home, Alexei, Josef stopped looking for the Spear. When asked about it, he said he had found his answer and did not need to look further. When the leaders of the Russian Orthodox Church pressed him, the only other thing he would say is that it was meant for another."

Xander frowned. "You saying he just gave up, for no clearly defined reason? Didn't anyone press him for more?"

"Da, of course they did. Eventually, he was excommunicated for refusing to comply with the personal wishes of the Patriarch of the Church. Josef was quite stubborn about the matter, you see, despite all blandishments and temptations."

Again, Xander could tell what 'that' meant. "You asked him personally, didn't you?"

Again, Baba Yaga smiled. "Josef was a strong man, who knew what awaited him in Heaven. As I recall, he was a lot like you." She stood back after a few seconds. "His notes might be helpful to you. I have tried over the centuries to decipher them, but I never succeeded. It is possible your friends in Rome might have more success than one like me."

Baba Yaga looked around. "Your friends outside are quite insistent on searching for my house. You, and the istrebitel who followed you here, you need to go to them." She seemed to hesitate for a second, but then moved forward and kissed Xander hungrily.

"Whoa," Xander breathed after the witch let him go. "Just what kind of debt am I owing you?"

Baba Yaga smirked, before her face grew serious. "I would offer you a warning, Alexei. You have attracted attention."

"Yeah, well, I'm told I'm real popular these days. After all, *you* wanted to meet me." Xander started to say.

"But, there are those who are not as accommodating as me. Bathory has sent Baron Roja after you."

"Baron Roja? Bathory?" It was the first time Xander had heard the names, and they meant nothing to him, yet.

"I look forward to our next meeting, Alexei - after you have found the Spear. You will return to pay your debt to me, of this there can be no doubt. Your sense of honor will demand it." Without another word, the stunningly beautiful witch clicked her fingers.

"What the?" Xander said as he blinked. Baba Yaga was simply not there anymore. The door at the end of the room then burst open with a loud bang, as it slammed against the wall. Cleburne and Anna hurried into the room.

"Kid, you alright?" the newly-minted general demanded.

"Yeah, but where did she go?" Xander asked, looking around.

"Who?" Anna asked.

"Baba Yaga, she was just here. You must have seen her go by you, right?" Xander craned his neck to look into the corridor.

"Come on, kid, the cabin is sitting on the ground now and we can get out without having to jump." Cleburne didn't like it in here anymore.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. November 5, 2001**

The Fang Gang looked up as Cordelia and Wesley walked in. Angel spoke first, "Well?"

Cordelia had a somewhat stunned look on her face. "That went, uh, completely unexpected."

"That bad?" Gunn asked dolefully.

"On the contrary, it went quite well for Cordelia," Wesley answered. Everyone had assumed the worst when the Internal Revenue Service had contacted Cordy. The IRS had sent her father to prison for not paying his taxes, and they had seized the Chase family fortune, and now everyone had thought they most likely wanted more money out of Cordelia.

"In what way?" Darla asked.

"Turns out, there was some money that they weren't supposed to seize," Cordy said slowly. "When I was born, my grandfather set up a trust fund for my college expenses. He had some CPA here in Los Angeles control it, and make all the investment decisions. My mom and dad, forgot all about it after he told them; I mean, they were sure I wasn't ever going to need it, and so nobody told me I had such a thing waiting for me after I grew up."

"And the IRS seized it," Gwen Raiden knew the story concerning the tax authorities and the Chase family well.

"Yeah. But now they want to give it back."

"What?" Ms. Raiden had not expected to hear 'that'. "All of the money they took from your father?"

"No, just, just my trust fund," Cordelia replied, looking like she was still trying to wrap her head around the concept.

Wesley picked up the thread of the conversation from Cordelia to explain further. "Apparently, the CPA overseeing the fund paid all the associated taxes on time and in full. Also, Mr. Chase exercised no control over the fund, all the decisions were made by the accountant. Therefore, after a 'very' lengthy investigation, the IRS came to the conclusion that the trust fund should not have been confiscated."

"So Daddy Chase gets the money," Gunn said with a trace of bitterness.

Cordelia shook her head. "No. I do."

"Since the trust fund was set up for Cordelia, and she is now of legal age, it's being released by the government for its original function, that is - paying for her college education," Wesley explained.

"If I budget with care, it'll get me all the way through UCLA or wherever," Cordelia said, wondering if this was the direction she wanted her life to go. {Maybe I should ask if they can give it all to me at once, in order to seriously jump-start my movie star career? Heck, all they can do is say no! }

"A free ride, sweet," Gunn said with a smile.

"Yeah, something went right with my life for a change," Cordelia said, shaking her head in wonder. "Maybe this is gonna be the start of something good for me."

"You never know," Gwen smirked in her direction.

It was too bad neither seer knew how Cordelia was now of no further interest to Jasmine, in terms of eventually becoming her mother; and that this little stunt of distracting the former princess with some much-needed cash was just a minor ploy in the rogue Power's master plan to finally get herself born into the mortal world.

 **Vatican City, Rome, Italy. November 6, 2001**

Monsignor Bentallo flipped through the pages of the book Baba Yaga had given to Xander. "Incredible, simply incredible. I have heard of Brother Josef, of course, but everyone thought his writings were lost."

"Baba Yaga seemed to think that you'd like having it," Xander commented.

Xander, Cleburne and the others were in Bentallo's office in Vatican City going over the events in Russia. The USMC general was not happy about Xander having to go back to Russia one day to pay for services rendered, but he was able to ignore that for now; there was no fixed timeframe involved, after all.

"And apparently, this whole thing in Russia was basically just to get that book to me, in order to pass onto you. Yeesh, haven't they ever heard of Fed-Ex?" Xander asked.

"Well, you did happen to also pick up a new stray," Cleburne complained.

Bentallo looked up. "A stray?"

"Russian liaison officer is headed our way." Gunny explained.

Smithers looked troubled. Cleburne noticed and said, "So, Smithers, you don't like our new friend Anna?"

Alan ignored Joshua's question and turned to Xander. "Baba Yaga definitely said Bathory and Baron Roja, didn't she?"

"Yes, for the tenth time! Those were the names she gave me," Xander complained.

"And this troubles you, why?" Cleburne asked the Watcher.

Alan gestured to the Monsignor to answer. Bentallo said, "General Cleburne, Bathory is bad, but as far as Mr. Harris is concerned - her minion, the so-called 'Baron Roja', is worse."

"These vamps are extra-dangerous, why?" Joshua wanted to know.

Bentallo turned up from the book and looked at Xander. "Elizabeth Bathory was Hungarian royalty, and a monster even *before* she was turned into a vampire. According to our records, the so-called Bloody Countess killed a vampire Slayer back in 1610 and bathed in a tub full of her blood afterwards; just as Bathory had done with all those peasants within her domain, when she was still human."

"Sounds kinda gross," Xander grimaced.

"However, Roja is much more dangerous where you personally are concerned."

"Why is that?" Gunny asked.

Smithers looked at the group with a look of apprehension.

"He hunts those who hunt vampires."

TBC...


	18. Chapter 18

**Part Fifty-Six**

 **UC Sunnydale, Sunnydale, California. November 15, 2001**

Over a week had passed since Xander and company had gotten back from Russia. And despite its best efforts, the organization known as Siberian Trip Wire still had not learned anything beyond what the Watchers had on Elizabeth Bathory and Baron Roja.

Granted, Xander had recalled the demon they had tangled with about a month earlier, and suggested he might know something about Bathory's current activities. The Ahluc demon was still being held at Gitmo, and so had become the focus of questioning on the subject.

Regrettably though the Ahluc demon, or 'Todd' as Xander had nicknamed him, was able to withstand anything short of ugly torture to make him talk. He had confirmed rumors of Bathory and Ivan Roja being very active in the 19th century Europe, but that was all. The Watchers Council had originally provided that gossip, as well as what little they knew about Roja's penchant for hunting demon hunters.

For his part, Xander had chafed under the new travel restrictions imposed by STW until they knew more, but he had spent his time with Fred and Oz as productively as he could. As far as the female physicist was concerned, that meant Harris practicing with the big, honking hot-air rifle she'd developed. With his werewolf buddy, it was listening to Oz's comments as Harris did some carpentry and tried his luck again with his old eighth grade nemesis...

The flugelhorn.

There was also Anna, the new Russian liaison, to deal with of course. Whilst not a swallow - a female agent trained in the art of seduction - in the strictest sense, the Russian woman was nonetheless a military officer with an agenda, and everyone knew it. But the redhead obeyed the rules, both the written and the unwritten ones, and did not force her company on Xander if he did not desire it.

Anna and Smithers weren't alone in being a liaison from a foreign power to start hanging around the Siberians, actually. One of the results of that conference in Iceland months ago was that there was more international cooperation in dealing with supernatural events. Of course, access to Xander was still being carefully controlled by Cleburne, who after that meeting with Baba Yaga was overcompensating a little thanks to how easily she'd dealt with him.

Esther Marcum was fielding complaints from various international agencies over the Marine general's actions, but so far Joshua wasn't budging on the matter and there was almost nothing she could do to get him to loosen up a little.

That was the great thing about being a general - you get to be able to do almost anything you want.

In any case, life had gone on for all those associated with Xander's past in Sunnydale and elsewhere. In Los Angeles, Cordelia was moving ahead with her life - preparing for university classes at USC starting in January, since it was too late to enroll in for the autumn term. She was also attending auditions and taking acting classes, wondering where to go from here.

Gwen and Gunn had started hanging out again, as the black man finally started to get over killing that guy named Gio. Wesley had constantly researched, hearing vague rumors concerning a remnant of the ancient sacred text known as the Nyazian prophecies. Angel and Darla had spent their time trying to anticipate every problem that might come up after the birth of their son, including how to best baby-proof the hotel.

The undead woman was 8 1/2 months gone, after all, and the big day was looming closer and closer. The Fang Gang was anxious, for obvious reasons, as they were in totally uncharted territory with a female vampire giving birth. So were Lilah and Gavin over at Wolfram & Hart, as Linwood Murrow was growing more and more irrational after the liaison to the Senior Partners had stopped by to 'have a private word' with him.

Life had also continued in Sunnydale, the way it always did.

Dawn was reveling in her freedom, after her mother had finally stopped grounding her for that Halloween joyride she'd planned to undertake.

Giles and Joyce were discussing how to put a lid on all the ever-increasing bills within the Summers household, including one rather radical suggestion; that the Englishman move into 1630 Revello Drive full-time and combine his income with that of Joyce's.

Buffy and Dawn hadn't been told of this possible solution yet. The two adults simply weren't sure how they'd take it. Besides, Giles hadn't forgotten what had happened on the day Buffy and Dawn had first found out about him and Joyce swapping spit on the couch - and the Slayer's angry demands to know what sort of intentions he had towards her mother had been forever burned into Rupert's memory, as if by a branding iron.

It would be quite amusing, actually, albeit in a rather terrifying sort of way, if it was the daughter instead of the father figure who pulled out the old shotgun in response to that sort of shenanigans.

Buffy herself was doing well in college, even going on a few dates - however, she hadn't revealed her night job to any of those guys yet. After all these years, she was justifiably wary of the whole Slayer thing frightening them off straightaway.

Oh, and curious historical sidebar - the demon named Sweet had never been summoned, as Anya had sold that amulet which would call upon the lord of the dance to manifest to a valued Magic Box customer. Someone from the Sunnydale PD who knew what the pretty bauble was for, and who had subsequently weighted it and sent the amulet to the bottom of the ocean - upon receiving his orders from Xander and Siberian Trip Wire.

Andrew was preparing to attend a gaming conference in Los Angeles towards the end of the month, not that anyone cared much.

As for Willow, Tara and Jonathan - they had been dealing with the issue of what to do when the group finally found Xander. Willow had found something that she thought might help, and the three of them had been debating about what to do with her idea. The magical trio had not been able to reach a consensus on the issue, even after much discussion on the subject.

"I don't know, Willow; are you sure about this?" Jonathan asked in his nasal and reedy voice.

"Yeah. Well, that is - kinda sorta," Willow temporized. She turned and looked at Tara. "I mean from what I've read, Lethe's Bramble has been used for forgetting and mind control spells in the past, right?"

"Yes, but...you, you think using something like that c-c-can make your friend be able to tolerate y-your presence again?" Tara stuttered, for the first time in quite a while.

"Sure - well, maybe - I mean, uh, I-I don't know. All I do know is, Hecate definitely isn't listening to my pleas to change that memory spell I did all those years ago - so we need to pursue, um, other channels," Miss Rosenberg said hesitantly.

"Yeah, but *this*?" Jonathan asked. "Willow, I gotta say it. What if the spell doesn't work as intended, and-and you wipe out Xander's memories completely? Or turn him into your mind- controlled slave? Those government people he's with, they'd guess right away who was most likely responsible! They might - well, those secret agent types might not react well, y'know."

"He's right," Tara touched Willow's arm gently. "We need to discuss this with the others, be-before we go any further."

Willow hesitated for a second, and then nodded. "Okay."

 **The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. Later that evening**

After the Magic Box was closed for the night, a full meeting of the Scooby Gang was held within the store. The two witches and the warlock shared the news with the others, and there was a - well, a full and frank exchange of views afterwards.

"Willow, are you *crazy*?!" Buffy semi-yelled at her best friend.

"Can you really bring the tongue here to Sunnydale safely?" That was Anya.

"Anya, that whole 'tongue' thing? Seriously, you need to get psychiatric help about that!" Jonathan told the ex-demon.

"No, she doesn't!" Andrew defended his girlfriend valiantly.

"It's tamer than the stuff I hear at school, anyway," Dawn added in her two cents to the conversation.

"We really need to talk to her principal about that, don't we?" Joyce asked Giles hopelessly, who just nodded in reply.

"GUYS!" Willow shouted, briefly silencing the bickering crowd. "I'm not suggesting doing anything that'll hurt Xander or put anyone's life in danger, okay? I'm just outlining the options we've come up with so far."

"Which come down to investigating the Bramble's usefulness, or-or abandoning this whole line of inquiry," Tara added tersely.

"It's been over two months since we learned Xander was still alive," Joyce said, starting to regret the fact that she had yet to tell anyone she'd met Harris and his friends in Washington. "What if someone's told him that we know that by now? Maybe we should just hold off for a while longer."

"How long, mom? A day? A week? A month? A year?" Buffy asked pessimistically. "We go down that road, then we may as well just wait for May 2003 to roll around. It's not all that far away, right?" She folded her arms. "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't do that. Because Xander is gonna get himself killed associating with those people, long before that happens!"

"You don't know that for certain," Giles told his Slayer calmly. "For all we know, the boy could be following an agenda."

"Doing what? I mean, you think there could be *another* 9/11 just around the corner?" Andrew asked, his eyes wide.

Willow started to speak but was interrupted by Jonathan. "That's something we can't be sure of."

Joyce jumped on that point. "That's right, I-I read about that anthrax thing in the newspaper recently. Maybe there are more things like that coming. His future knowledge could save lives."

"We need to focus here," Willow cut in, trying to redirect the discussion before anyone went further down that line of thought. "Look, I've done the research, and I think I can use Lethe's Bramble to magically modify someone's memory. Finally fix that humongous mistake I made, way back when. I think it's worth testing what I've come up with so far. And we should at least give it a try, right?"

"I don't know. Willow, it is a valid concern that Xander may have additional knowledge that could impact upon the world, and this spell may interfere with that," Giles said carefully.

"Yeah, but after all this time? The odds are he must have told those government people everything," Willow protested.

"Perhaps, still - what if he hasn't? Are we here willing to take that risk?" Giles replied reasonably.

"Also, have we considered if now is the right time to find Xander?" Joyce asked.

"Mom, what are you saying?" Buffy looked at her mother in shock.

"Well, dear, think about it; I suspect he has...issues to address. What with everything that's happened to him over the past three years - I'd say the odds are Xander's no longer the person we remember, he'd have a different outlook and opinion on just about everything. And - well, please don't take this the wrong way, honey, but you also have issues to be addressed."

"Mother!" Buffy almost yelped.

Joyce was thinking quickly on her feet now, trying to avoid revealing that she had actually met Xander recently. "I'm sorry, Buffy, but I think you - all of us - have gone through a lot since high school. We've changed, and no doubt Xander's changed as well."

Giles nodded. "Well, yes, that's true enough...take everything Xander's done where Angel's concerned, for example. I mean - apart from those 'conversations' with Dawn, perhaps - Xander's mental state is something we, we know nothing about, how he feels about any of us nowadays."

"I *wish* I could-" Dawn started to say wistfully.

"DON'T say it!" Anya yelped; she knew just how dangerous a Wish could be. Halfrek had been complaining about not meeting her monthly quota recently, and D'hoffryn only knew what kind of Wish world the demoness would create if she overheard this conversation.

"Fine," Dawn said sulkily, hating to be talked down to this way.

"Giles has a point, I guess. But that's all the more reason why we need to be able to talk to Xander, so we can address those issues," Willow spoke up, wanting to redirect the conversation back to the original topic.

"Yes, sweetie. I'm not arguing about that," Joyce answered in a motherly tone, as over the years she had been in Sunnydale she had come to view Willow as almost one of her own children. "However, even if this spell works, we're not in a position to take full advantage of it yet. We'll most likely only get one shot at this, so we can't afford to have anything go wrong. Be honest; can you guarantee me that nothing bad will happen, if Xander happens to be in the middle of a gun battle or something when you do this spell?"

{ No, I guess I can't.} Willow thought to herself, feeling conflicted, she knew that Joyce was right, but she didn't have to be happy about it.

Giles spoke up, "We should continue researching the spell, so as to make sure it will, um, c-confer the results we want. Trying to incant it now, though, without even knowing where the boy is or what he's doing. Joyce is right, it would be equivalent of undertaking brain surgery, without even having attended medical school."

Willow looked annoyed, taking that a personal slight. "I can do the spell, Giles."

"Your ability is not in doubt, Willow, not after all the spells you've done over the years. However, we must be sure the spell is done at the most beneficial moment, you must admit," Giles answered.

"But Xander's out there," Buffy said in a pleading tone. "We can't just leave him out there all alone!"

"We're not, honey. We know he's not alone, or living in some dumpster like a homeless person. He's clearly well protected and being taken care of." Joyce leaned over and put her hand over Buffy's hands.

Giles nodded his head. "Yes, quite right - it would behoove the American government's interests to keep him safe and somewhat satisfied, after all."

Joyce didn't say anything to that, not wanting to hint she knew more than she did. But she thought to herself, {If only you knew how true that was, dear.}

Buffy and Willow exchanged a look. After a few seconds, Buffy reluctantly nodded. Willow likewise nodded and exhaled slowly.

"Alright, but we keep researching and preparing," Miss Rosenberg said stubbornly.

Joyce smiled at Willow, "Of course, dear."

Next door in his book store, Josef Lemke heaved a sigh of relief after ceasing to eavesdrop on the Scooby Gang. One because they had seen reason, and two, if Willow did that spell with Lethe's Bramble and it went wrong.

That mass amnesia Xander had told him about didn't sound like fun, and neither did that army of rabbits Anya had apparently summoned in the original history.

 **Houston, Texas. November 24, 2001**

"Baron, I hope the accommodations meet with your approval?"

Baron Ivan Roja, otherwise known as the Red Baron of old, sniffed disdainfully as he entered the penthouse suite. The minion from Wolfram & Hart hurried along behind him, knowing the aristocratic vampire expected him to keep up.

"Not really, as it is not exactly what I have grown used to. However, I generally stay in places that are civilized. And since I am currently mired in a place of barbarians, I suppose I must make allowances." Ivan looked out at the night skyline of Houston. "The windows - they are coated so that when the sun rises, it will not harm me?"

"That is correct, sir. Necro-tempered glass, straight out of the R&D labs of the Los Angeles branch of the firm. No matter what the time of day, after they pass through the glass the rays of sunlight will not be able to harm you in any way."

"Good, then at least I don't have to worry about that." Roja walked into the kitchen. "Did you obtain the information I requested?"

"Yes, sir." The minion hurried after Roja, and handed over a manila folder. "It was difficult, but all the information you requested is contained herein."

Baron Roja looked at the material within the folder labeled "Anthony and Jessica Harris". "Excellent, then hopefully I can conclude my business here quickly and retire to more congenial surroundings."

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. November 27, 2001**

Wes was sitting at his desk, reading the ancient Nyazian scrolls and scribbling away madly as he attempted to translate the contents. He had been doing that for almost the entire day, ever since Gunn and Gwen had returned from their little fun-filled B&E activity not long after dawn.

Gwen had wanted to see just how well Gunn could handle himself, so she'd taken him with her last night. Granted, the job had gone a little off the tracks when the previous owner of the scrolls had walked in on them, shortly after they had broken into the guy's house. He had been most upset, but once Gwen had mentioned the magic word IRS, the exotic items collector had been willing to do almost anything to make the two of them get out and stay out of his home.

Being affiliated with the United States government did have some advantages, to be sure.

Cordy was at her own desk working on her laptop, busy with the minutia that came with running the detective agency. For their part, Gunn and Gwen were throwing darts at a board on the wall within the Hyperion.

"Ha! One hundred and eighty points, pal. Beat that," Gwen said victoriously, as Gunn's expression turned sour.

"Damn. To think I used to be cool, before I started hanging out with the white folks all the time," Gunn complained. "So, Wes, how are you doing?"

"Uh, I'm getting there. The math's rather complicated, and I..." Wes trailed off as Darla came waddling into the room. "Oh. That can't be right. Not unless the world ended last March, anyway."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, finally looking away from her computer. "Wesley, are you talking 'bout Armageddon happening early this year or what? What are you looking for, anyway? Is it a bad event - or a bad guy?"

Wesley shook his head. "The text, it's not clear on that. As best as I can tell, it predicts the arrival or arising of the Tro-clon. The, uh, person or being, or the confluence of events that brings about the ruination of mankind."

Gwen snorted. "So it's a two for one special. Well, isn't that nice?"

Wesley added, "And I'm not sure about the translation, unfortunately. Ruination may in fact mean purification."

Gunn didn't get what the ex-Watcher was trying to say. "Purification? So, you sayin' this Tro-clon is a good thing?"

"I rather doubt it myself, but I can't be certain. All I know is that the word means purification in Aramaic, ruination in ancient Greek and in the lost Ga-shundi language, it means both," Wesley said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

Cordy smirked. "Better watch it, Wes. You don't want to make the same mistake twice."

"What mistake?" Darla spoke up, as everyone turned to look at her.

"There was another unclear prophecy, quite a while ago. Right about the time Wolfram & Hart brought you back as a human, actually. It was about the vampire with a soul and contained the word 'shanshu', which I thought meant to die and I - sort of told Angel..." Wesley trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Cordy said it for him, "...that he was going to die."

"Well, as mistakes go, that's not a minor one," Darla said with a small laugh, rubbing her belly before deciding to sit down.

Wesley went on, "The thing is, I then found out it also meant to live. To 'shanshu' meant to die and to live."

"What?" Darla turned around to face the former Watcher. "How can it possibly mean both?"

Wesley shrugged. "It means that someday the vampire in him might die, but the man in him might live. That Angel will become human."

"WHAT?" Darla screamed, looking livid as she jumped up off the couch.

"Oh, lemme guess. You didn't know?" Cordelia rolled her eyes. {Typical dumbass brooding vampire, he always forgets to mention that sort of thing.}

"No, I didn't! So when is all this supposed to happen?" Darla then demanded of Wesley.

"I don't know. As I said the prophecy was rather vague about the timing, it didn't even mention Angel by name." Then Wesley's eyes went wide. "Good Lord! Darla, you have a soul now as well, I...for all we know, the shanshu prophecy could have been referring to *you* all along, instead of Angel."

"What?" Cordelia demanded, as Angel came into the room.

"What's all the yelling about?" the Champion demanded, as he joined the others near the hotel counter.

Darla started screaming at the father of her baby, wanting to know when the hell he'd been planning to tell her that either he or she was going to become human one day. Angel had to continually duck to avoid the pregnant woman's slaps to the head as Darla chased her childe around the hotel lobby, ignoring his pleas for her to calm down for Connor's sake, if nothing else.

"Hello?"

Everyone in the hotel lobby stopped for a second and turned to the front entrance to see who had interrupted this particular comedy scene. There standing in front of them was a young man, dressed like an elf straight out of Middle Earth. "Hi, I'm Andrew Wells; I think Buffy and Willow told you I was coming?"

 **Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale**. **Two hours later**

Rupert Giles picked up the phone on the third ring as he put down the book he had been reading. "Rupert Giles speaking."

"Rupert, it's Wesley Wyndham-Pryce here." 

"Oh yes, Wesley, did Andrew arrive there alright?" Giles had a slight smirk on his face as he said that.

"He arrived safely, however - I must say that I would not care to hazard a guess about how long that would continue to be the case, given his current behaviour."

"Yes, well, um, Mr. Wells does admittedly lack in some social airs and graces." Giles had to fight to keep the laughter out of his voice, as he thought of how Angel must be feeling right now. Cordelia, too, given that Andrew had been a big fan of hers for quite a while.

"Some? Good God, man, it's only been a couple of hours and I already know far more about The Lord of the Rings trilogy than I ever wanted to. And to think, I 'liked' those books when I read them in my youth!"

Again, Giles suppressed a chuckle. "I share your anguish, old chap. Look, when it gets too much, I subtly try to shift Andrew onto another obsession of his; the Star Trek universe, actually. It's painful, but at least it spares Tolkien's ghost that particular humiliation."

"Well, at least this gaming convention will only last a couple of days. Ah, by the way, did Willow pass on those scrolls I sent to Sunnydale?" Wesley asked.

"She did, and thank you for those. I'm rather hopeful they will help with my concerns regarding Angel's situation." 

"Good, if I can do anything else, let me know." There was an audible 'click' as Wesley quickly hung up.

 **Somewhere below Los Angeles, California. Later that evening**

When the midnight hour was about to strike, at his desk within the Hyperion Wes finally completed his preliminary analysis of the Nyazian texts. {Good heavens. Whatever this Tro-clon really is, if my calculations are correct - it's happening somewhere in Los Angeles right now.}

Wesley's speculations were more accurate than he knew. Somewhere underneath the streets of the city there was a hidden chamber, lit by fires in the alcoves along the wall. The ceiling was supported by a circle of pillars, and a stone statue and two bowls holding more flames formed an equilateral triangle inside the circle of pillars.

A demon walked into the sacred chamber and stopped in front of the statue. He was the timeshifter demon known as Sahjhan, who had been keeping an incorporeal eye on Angel and Darla and Connor for months now. He started to chant:

"The weight of time is heavy on the world. And all men born must die. But there are worlds unknown, where dreamers dream and sleepers sleep, and patiently await. As pledged in Caladan by Cod-she..." Sahjhan stepped back and made a complicated gesture with his hands at the statue, "...one shall awaken in the first year of the new century. That one, who lived before and joined Cod-she in the great sleep, shall now arise. Arise, as was promised and foretold in the Nyazian sacred texts. Arise. Arise!"

Initially, nothing happened. The demon stared at the statue impatiently, {Come on, come on, I haven't got all day.}

Suddenly the room began to shake, and blue lightning exploded out of the statue. The eyes of the statue suddenly turned into two open, human-looking eyes. Eventually, the marble of the statue crumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust as the earthquake finally ceased.

The demon walked over to the crouching figure huddled in the middle of what was left of the statue. Sahjhan said, "Welcome to the twenty-first century."

He crouched down himself and put an incorporeal hand on the back of the figure, "Angelus and Darla are here. You'll see them again soon. But you haven't used your muscles in a very long time. It'll be a while before you're strong enough to..."

The figure suddenly straightened up, as Sahjhan removed his hand. The previously crouching figure was a man - middle-aged, yet still spry and capable-looking. He had a goatee like Alan Smithers, but unlike that Englishman this son of the British Isles had an expression on his face that was full of rage and barely controlled hatred.

Daniel Holtz. A vampire hunter from the 18th century, who had agreed to be frozen in time by Sahjhan for the opportunity to finally gain revenge on Angelus and Darla, for their murder of his wife and two children.

"Just tell me where they are," Holtz hissed at the demon, staring Sahjhan directly in the eye. "For *no one* shall deny me justice!"

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Lilah Morgan rolled her eyes in frustration. Despite the incredibly late hour, the building was still in full swing and she was quite busy. The expert that had been brought in to decipher Wolfram & Hart's prophetic scrolls, after the failure of the previous attempts to translate them, was going on about how helpful the previous work had been.

Of course, Lilah knew that such praise wouldn't help the person responsible for the previous work, as the price of failure around here was not a pleasant one.

"Yes, fine, he was very helpful. Now tell me what you found out, before you get to meet him in person!" Lilah snapped.

The guy named Harvey blanched for a second. "Err, well, I was able to finish up to this part about the son of two vampires. It was quite difficult to interpret correctly - Ga-shundi tenses, they're tricky little buggers."

"I know all about that bit concerning a human child being born to those two members of the undead club. What else have you got?" Lilah demanded impatiently, looking at the Post-It notes on the scroll.

"Well, that's just it. According to my translation, uh, there will be no birth."

Lilah immediately looked confused. "What? No birth, but the prophecies?"

"I know, Ms. Morgan, the other prophecies all talk about the coming of a human child with vampire parents. However, if you look here," Harvey used a magnifying glass to point out the section in question. "It says, and I quote: 'For surely in that time, when the sky opens and the heavens weep, the mother shall not give birth'. And like other immutable prophecies in works such as the Pergamum Codex, there is no way this divination can fail to come to pass."

"So, what's that mean - Angel's kid dies after Darla goes into labor?" Lilah asked, wondering how she could use this to her advantage - especially against her more-than-half-crazy boss, Linwood.

"No, ah, apparently not - as this scroll talks about the child later on in the present tense, living," Harvey proffered a different sacred text.

"Well how is that possible, if Darla doesn't give birth to her and Angel's damned hellspawn?" Lilah simply didn't get it.

"I don't know, Ms. Morgan. But that's the thing about prophecies - they don't tell you everything. Most times, these things only become clear after the fact," Harvey shrugged helplessly, which made Lilah want to punch him right between in the eyes.

 **A private airfield outside of Los Angeles. November 28, 2001**

Early the next morning a small jet taxied into a hangar; as the jet slowed down, the ground crew hurried to open the door. As the door was lowered, Michael "Red" Byrne stepped down while he was talking on his cell phone. Exiting the plane a few seconds after him was Alan Smithers, followed by a trio of secret agents.

"Yeah, we just got here. Uh-huh, the trip was fine. Well, I'm supposed to meet the doctors that Chalmers recommended later on today. These guys, they're with the program right? They understand the special nature of their patient?"

Red listened carefully for a few moments. "Okay, still if they start freaking out over their malpractice insurance, I'm the one they're going to complain to!" He suppressed a chuckle to the response from Cleburne.

"Yeah, General, I'll take them to the hotel where the vampires are." Red again listened for a few seconds. "I know, I'll make sure they get there alright. Any other instructions? Fine, I'll call you later." He and Smithers then arrived at and got into the car that had pulled up next to the hanger.

Alan spoke up out of mild curiosity, "Is he always like that?"

"You should have seen what General Cleburne was like before Harris came along!" Red shook his head as the Lincoln Town Car sped off towards the city.

 **Houston, Texas. Later that morning**

The Deputy United States Marshal ducked under the police tape that surrounded this ordinary-looking house in the suburbs. Police cars surrounded the house and officers wandered around here and there, doing what they did at crime scenes. The Marshal walked to the front door where a pair of detectives was waiting for him.

"Morning, you from the U.S. Marshals?" one of the cops asked, looking at the badge that was hanging from around the man's neck.

"I am, Deputy Marshal Al Hixon. You called me?"

"Yeah, I'm Detective Larson and this is my partner, Detective Stengel. A red flag came up on this address to contact your office if we had a call here." 

"Okay. I assume you got a call, then?" Al Hixon, who had a relative in the Air Force named Major Arthur 'Dragonslayer' Hixon, asked.

"Neighbors called last night. Said they heard strange noises over here. A patrol unit responded and found this," Detective Larson motioned towards the doorway.

Hixon stepped through into the house. He looked around and stopped cold in the living room as he looked at the wall. "Okay, this is worrisome. Bodies?"

"Nope, didn't find any - but still..." Stengel said as the two detectives came up behind Hixon. "That kinda makes a statement all its own, wouldn't you say?"

There on the wall in red paint - or at least Hixon *hoped* it was red paint, even if deep down he very much doubted it - was one word, scrawled in huge letters.

"TIMETRIPPER".

 **Private medical practice, Los Angeles, California. Later that afternoon**

"Dr. Haldane?"

The balding, middle-aged ob-gyn looked up in response to the question. He saw a red-haired man in a business suit was standing in the doorway. So the doctor replied, "Yes, and you are?"

"Mike Byrne, Dr. Chalmers sent me."

"Oh, yes, the pregnancy with severe complications," the M.D. nodded to himself, he remembered being asked to consult on this matter.

"To say the least. I've come to help coordinate everything," Red said with a small smirk

Haldane reached over and picked up his day book. "Let me see what I can schedule."

"Well, there is another guy's schedule to consider, actually."

"Another doctor?" Haldane raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, not exactly." Red abruptly lost the smirk, as he considered that shaman that had arrived from the Yoro Mountains in Honduras. Given the guy's reputation, it didn't pay to be amused about him at all.

 **The sacred chamber underneath Los Angeles, California. Later that night**

Sahjhan looked at the middle-aged vampire hunter he had brought forth into this time and place. Holtz had recovered from the timeshifter's dark magicks over the past few days, and sick and tired of watching the 230 years' worth of history he had missed out on those damned TV monitors, the hunter was now examining a sword and various other arms on a table in front of him.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" Sahjhan abruptly asked.

"The weapons, yes, but I'll need men, those two vampires are hard enough to deal with even under the best of circumstances, and I am no longer the young man I was when I first encountered Angelus and Darla," Holtz replied stoically.

"It's Angel now, actually," Sahjhan said with a small shrug.

Holtz looked up at Sahjhan's correction. "What?"

"Angel, he goes by Angel now."

"Why would Angelus do that?" Holtz demanded suspiciously.

"I dunno for sure, but I guess times change, and names change with them. Hell, even in your day , who referred to France as 'Gaul' anymore?" Sahjhan briefly smirked as he said that.

"It doesn't matter, whatever Angelus wants to call himself - I shall have my revenge against both him and that demon bitch of his. Now, what about some men at arms?" Holtz reiterated his demand.

"Well, not all of them are men, but I think they'll do the trick quite nicely," the timeshifter demon smirked arrogantly, as he considered the Grapplar demon mercenaries he had hired. "Come with me."

 **Wolfram & Hart garage, Los Angeles, California. A little later that night**

"Come on, get a move on!"

The group of commandos boarded the unmarked vans while their leader stood behind them. Next to one of the vans was a similarly unmarked ambulance. A couple of paramedics and a doctor were getting into that ambulance. Lilah was standing behind them.

"You know what to do?" the evil female attorney demanded of the strike team leader.

"Yes, Ms. Morgan; grab the baby and bring it here, no matter what it takes." Agent Hauser looked down at the gurney being put into the ambulance, there were restraints attached to it. "No matter what it takes."

"Good," Lilah nodded, even if deep down she had the terrible feeling that all this was going to blow up in her - and Linwood's - face. This wasn't the first time the Senior Partners had authorized this sort of snatch and grab operation, after all; and it seemed that apart from the extra manpower, there was no difference from the last attempt that had led Angel to promise that he'd kill Lilah first, if there were any more such kidnapping attempts.

{No wonder Lindsey decided to get out while the going was good.} Lilah thought to herself as the vans and the ambulance departed. {Good thing I updated my will recently, as well.}

Elsewhere, at roughly the same time, Holtz looked up as he heard thunder in the distance. He held out his hand and felt a drop of rain hit. He shook his head and, following Sahjhan closely, the vampire hunter continued walking towards his destination.

Even though once he got there and met the Grapplar demons Sahjhan had recruited, Holtz was less than pleased about the composition of his so-called 'men at arms'.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Darla stood smoldering, so to speak, as she listened to the approaching storm. She folded her arms and shifted from foot to foot. She was still mad over what she had learned earlier about Angel and that damned prophecy of his. She wasn't quite sure *why* she was mad, but she was. Maybe it was due to Angel not confiding to her about something that was as important as the shanshu prophecy.

Or maybe she was mad that one day, there was a 50-50 chance that the father of her child would no longer be as immortal as she was - that Angel would become human, and grow old, and eventually die, leaving her alone for the rest of eternity.

Looking out the window, Darla suddenly noticed a van pull up in front of the hotel and a couple of men get out. She frowned as they hurried towards the front doors of the Hyperion.

"Better see what that's all about," the heavily pregnant blonde muttered as she started to walk to the door leading back out into the hotel corridor. She made her waddling way to the lobby, where the Fang Gang and the newcomers were congregated.

Wesley looked up. "Ah, Darla, there you are. The doctors, well - a doctor and a witch doctor - who will be attending you during the birth, have arrived."

{Really. And here I don't recall making arrangements for any such thing.} Two men were standing near the front door; Darla quickly pegged them as soldiers. Near the Fang Gang was a red-headed man, one whom the nine-month-pregnant blonde had never seen before.

"Ma'am, this is Dr. Scott Haldane and this is Shaman Limele Juan," Red motioned to the two men standing next him.

"Okay, and you are?" Darla asked suspiciously.

"Someone sent here to make sure this birth doesn't have any more complications than it has to."

"That's too long a name, give us something shorter to call you," Cordelia said acerbically as Darla waddled down the stairs.

Michael Byrne cracked a smile, his advance information on Ms. Chase had indeed been accurate. "Red."

"Fine, Mr. Red," Cordy seemed to size him up pretty quickly.

"It's just Red, Ms. Chase. My real name is kinda classified where you people are concerned."

Ignoring the banter Angel moved to help Darla down the stairs, but quickly stopped when she glared at him. {Okay, she's still mad as hell. Note to self; buy her lots of presents tomorrow!}

The female vampire turned to the new arrivals once she was standing in the lobby. "Why do you think there should there be complications?" Darla demanded.

"This pregnancy is unnatural," Juan said simply, the shaman gazing at that huge, distorted belly of hers.

"You said that the last time we met; anything new to add?" Darla commented acidly.

He didn't answer; it was Dr. Haldane who answered. "We understand that there are unique circumstances here, ma'am. Just *how* unique I wasn't informed until a short while ago." He sent a glare in Red's direction, who simply shrugged and mouthed 'Security'.

The ob-gyn went on, "It's my hope to be able to deal with the situation in a manner that ensures both the health and safety of both you and your unborn child." He was distracted for a second by a rumble of thunder from outside.

Darla suddenly gasped, "I hope so too. Because my water just broke!" as a puddle of liquid began to form at her feet.

 **Another part of the Hyperion Hotel. A short while later**

Darla had been moved upstairs to one of the rooms. Outside in the corridor, Dr. Haldane was arguing with Juan and Red. "We need to get her to a hospital. I can call ahead and have them ready a delivery room! This birth is complicated enough already."

"I fail to see the point of such actions, as a human hospital and its equipment can't help this particular woman. She is something beyond what they are prepared for," Juan replied.

"This whole thing is beyond what anyone is prepared for! We need to move her to a controlled, sterile environment!"

Red shook his head. "No, maintaining security at a place like that would be a nightmare, and besides everyone here is better prepared for this situation than conventional medical staff. Why else do you think hospital arrangements weren't made months ago? You know damn well that the doctors and nurses there would ask pointless questions. Questions whose answers they could never believe, anyway, and simply waste everyone's time."

"But in an old hotel room?"

"Women have been giving birth in worse places since the start of recorded history," the Navy SEAL rejoined Haldane's observation. "And even though it might make you feel better being in a familiar environment."

Cordelia came over to interrupt, looking worried. "Something's wrong."

Both Haldane and Juan instantly hurried inside the room to Darla, with Red bringing up the rear. Angel hovered in the doorway, looking on with apprehension. After awhile he spoke up, "What is it? What's going on, why hasn't Connor been born yet?" The undead father had definitely started to panic by now.

Wesley walked down the hallway to the door, Andrew following behind him. "Angel, I think you should take a look at this."

The ex-Watcher showed his undead boss part of the translated text of the Nyazian prophecies. "I finally translated it properly from the original Ga-shundi. It says here, 'when the skies open and the heavens weep, the mother will fail to deliver her offspring'. The prophecy, it's saying..."

"...that Darla can't actually give birth?" Angel finished, giving voice to his fears.

"Her vampire body. It's not a life-giving vessel," Wesley said slowly, turning to stare at the undead blonde - who was trying not to grimace from the agonizing pain. "And if we don't do something soon we might lose your son completely, Connor will be still-born...after all, we can't exactly do a C-section..."

"Damn it! How could we not have learned this until the very last minute?!" Angel wanted to scream against the unfairness of it all. "I mean, this whole thing doesn't make sense! First Darla gets pregnant, our son is protected from any and all harm by mystical forces we still don't understand, and now when it's time for Connor to be born - something like *this* happens?!"

"It's odd, but all this kinda reminds me of one of my favorite Star Trek: DS9 episodes," Andrew started to babble geekily. "Y'know the one, where Keiko O'Brien was about to lose her unborn son Kirayoshi on that shuttle? But then Dr. Bashir had the bright idea of using the transporter to teleport the fetus into Major Kira's body, in order to safely carry the child to term , which was a bit of a dumb plot device if you ask me, but since the actress playing Kira Nerys had gotten pregnant and they didn't want to kill off the character or anything..."

Andrew trailed off as he saw both Angel and Wes staring at him. "What?"

"Out of the mouths of babes." the ex-Watcher said in sheer wonder, before turning to face the male vampire. "Angel, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Angel nodded, turning to stare at his Vision Girls one after the other. "It's gonna have to be Cordelia. There's no way we can risk Connor's life asking Gwen to do it!"

"Mr. Wells, thank you for your suggestion," Wesley told the nerd rapidly, before he and Angel moved away to talk to the others.

"Cordelia, can we have a word?" Wesley said with obvious hesitation, and gestured to Angel to take over.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND?!" Cordelia exclaimed loudly a few seconds later, unable to believe what the Champion was asking of her now.

"Cordy. Please. It's my son's life we're talking about," Angel literally begged her to do it. "We can't risk Gwen doing it; she has a mystical power that might kill Connor, if she tries to give birth to him."

"Hey! I am standing right here, y'know," Ms. Raiden said from the doorway, looking insulted with Gunn looking on from behind her.

"Do you even know what it is you're asking me to do?" Cordelia ran her hands through her hair.

Angel stepped back and was silent for a few seconds. "I'm asking to you to save my son's life."

Cordy's eyes widened for a second and she placed her hand on her heart. {Oh, God - he just *had* to put it like that, didn't he?}

"AGGGHHHHH!" Darla screamed by way of interruption, as another contraction ripped through her tortured pregnant body.

"The baby's heartbeat - it's growing weaker," the ob-gyn reported, listening with his stethoscope.

Darla looked up at Cordy. "Please." she begged softly.

"There is no more time left," the shaman concurred. "If you would do this thing, it must be done now,- or never."

"Fine!" Cordelia abruptly made her decision. She then glared daggers at Angel while Darla was attended to by the doctor and the shaman. "Fine, I'll do it. And just so you know - I'm going to do it, not for you or her, but because your son can't help who his parents are. And because I don't want Connor to die if I can possibly save his life."

Haldane hurried up to Cordelia. "You'll need to lay down, and get changed out of your street clothes. Plus I'm going to have to give you an injection of hormones, in order to fool your body into thinking it's ready to give birth," the doctor said, reaching into his black bag and selecting a number of vials.

"And I must prepare the transference spell," the shaman added. "To that end, I will need a sample of the new mother's blood, as well as the old."

"Just *hurry*!" Darla screamed, honestly not sure how much more of this she could take.

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. The same time**

Lilah paced her office floor as Gavin Park sat in a chair next to her desk. Every a few seconds, the radio set up on her desk crackled with a report from the commando team sent to the Hyperion Hotel.

"We have a situation occurring," a male voice suddenly spoke over the radio. 

Lilah reached down and spoke into the microphone transmitter. "What's going on?"

"Man on foot approaching."

"It's a public street, a man walking along isn't that uncommon!" the female lawyer said in exasperation.

"No, ma'am we closed off Hyperion Boulevard entirely, he would have had to get past at least three of our people to have reached this far. They would have - they should have - stopped him," was the answer. "Sir, I need to you to...what the hell-?!"

Nothing but static then came over the radio.

"Report, report, what's going on?" Lilah almost yelled into the radio.

The static cleared for a second. Lilah and Gavin could hear screaming and gunfire.

"Damn it, someone talk to me, what's going on over there!" Ms. Morgan tried not to scream in anger.

All that came over the radio was more static, though. And just then, Linwood Murrow came charging into the room, demanding to know what was going on, before threatening to crucify both of his subordinates.

Meanwhile, barely a couple of blocks from the Hyperion Hotel, Holtz placed his sword back in its scabbard, after wiping all the human blood off of it.

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. Not long before midnight**

The shaman knelt between the two couches that had been moved close to each other. Darla and Cordelia were each laying on the couches. Juan took a breath and placed one hand on Darla's bloated belly and the other on Cordelia's flat, smooth one. Angel hovered near Darla while Andrew tried to make himself useful by being near Cordelia.

The shaman's chant began: "Nur hat kahla'esh. Nin hat kahla'shin. Vahla'mahar, timar et kun'un. Let the child pass from the old vessel to the new."

At once Cordelia started screaming her lungs out, the noise almost deafening everyone nearby.

The torment the young woman was experiencing was far worse than that time years ago, when Cordy had been about to give birth to seven baby demons - thanks to her one night stand with the scumbag known as Wilson Christopher. There was pain; not just the pain of the baby's mystical transference from Darla's womb into her own, but also the pain of actual childbirth - for, as said, Connor had been ready to be born for some time now, and so he had started travelling down the birth canal almost immediately.

"OH SWEET JESUS!" Cordelia yelled, as she instinctively grabbed and squeezed Andrew's hand. Wells whimpered, his face contorting in agony as it felt like the Chase woman was breaking every single bone in his hand. Still, Cordy had had less than fifteen minutes to be prepared for what was assaulting her, and it felt like she was dying right now.

"That's it, push!" Gwen called out encouragingly.

"The baby's crowning, I can see the head!" the doctor exclaimed a few moments later. "Bring me the towels and the hot water, now!"

Right on cue, though, gunshots rang out from somewhere nearby.

Red instinctively drew his sidearm. "What the hell is - report! Somebody, tell me what's going on down there!" he shouted into the radio he had hidden in his jacket pocket. Byrne then ran to the door and headed into the hallway, leaving Andrew, the two medics and the Fang Gang to look after the situation concerning Darla.

"There's some kind of fight going on outside. Commandos seem to be under attack from some kind of demons. People with swords are running around as well," was the answer to Red's question.

"Backup?"

"On the way. I figure we're going to need it soon."

"Understood, I'm on my way down." He hurried down the hallway.

"What the hell's going on?" Gunn asked as he and Wesley ran to catch up to Red.

"Demons, commandos, a battle with swords and guns outside on the street, you know, I should think that's unusual, but somehow it's not."

"Tell me about it," Gunn quipped. "What do you need us to do?"

"Hold on. Samuelson, report!"

"Things are gettin' hairy, sir. Denham is down, a stray round that came outta nowhere. The demons and the commandos are taking each other out for now, but sooner or later they're going to make trouble for us."

Red turned to Wesley and Gunn. "Okay, looks like the winner of the rumble out on the street is probably going to come knocking. I think it's clear that they want to crash the party upstairs. That would be bad."

"Any help coming?" Gunn asked.

"Yeah, but I don't know their ETA, so we're on our own for the time being. Get back up there, and see when they'll be ready to evac the hot zone."

Meanwhile, back up in the makeshift delivery room, the miracle child's entrance into the world finally occurred as the clock struck midnight, despite Jasmine's fuming about how Connor's birth had failed to cause Darla to kill herself, as part of the original scenario she'd had in mind.

A loud slap was heard and the birth cries of the male infant filled the room as Andrew and Gwen watched in befuddled wonder. The doctor and the shaman took turns handling the baby, cleaning him up as Angel fidgeted nearby - an overprotective vibe exuding out of him already.

"Oh dear God, I am never doing that again," Cordelia lay panting and gasping as Darla finally got up from her couch and stumbled over to where Haldane and Juan were.

"Hello, Connor. Welcome to the world," the boy's father said in sheer awe, gazing at the baby Darla now held in her arms.

"No," Darla shook her head.

"What?"

Darla looked over at Cordelia, who winced as she nodded. So the undead bio-mom smiled before she replied, "Our son's name is Connor Alexander."

Angel smiled as he looked up at Darla. {Okay, why not? After all, it's a different world now and if it hadn't been for Xander's warnings, my kid might have died tonight.}

At that moment, Gunn and Wesley flung open the door. "We got visitors coming!" Gunn blurted out.

"What? What's going on?" Angel demanded.

"Demons and what I'm guessin' is a Wolfram & Hart SWAT team are fighting it out outside, and the fight's about to spill over into the hotel," Gunn explained.

"I suspect they knew about Connor's impending birth tonight, the Nyazian scrolls couldn't have been the only prophecy available regarding the miracle child - and both sides are trying to abduct him," Wesley added helpfully.

"My son!" Angel vamped out in anger. "They want to kidnap my son?!"

"Our son," Darla corrected Angel. "Let's go downstairs and take care of them."

"No, there's no need to risk yourselves that way; we just need to get to a place of temporary safety until help gets here, it's on the way," Wesley explained.

"Is there some place we can retreat to, like your version of Hoth base or something?" Andrew spoke up in concern, even as most people looked confused at the Star Wars reference.

"She can't be moved quickly, or too far," Dr. Haldane said, motioning at Cordelia. "This young lady barely had any time to prepare for the birth; surely you can't expect her to run a marathon right now! By rights, I ought to be giving her a thorough physical examination in the closest hospital at this point."

"That's not an option at the moment, I'm afraid," Wesley replied as he went to help Cordelia up. "Angel, Darla - do either of you have any preference on where we can safely ride out the situation until help gets here?"

"Up."

"What?" Gunn said in response to Andrew's comment.

"People don't think to look up during a crisis. That should buy us some time," Wells explained. "In the DC universe, during the _Crisis on Infinite Earths_ crossover, see, both Superman and Supergirl,"

"Yeah, I think we got the gist," Angel rapidly cut off the geek's comic-related babble. "All right, let's head for the roof. That may give us enough time for the reinforcements to arrive."

Gunn nodded. "Up we go."

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. November 29, 2001**

"Someone talk to me!" Lilah yelled into the transmitter, not long after midnight. She slammed her fists on the desk in frustration when there was no answer.

Gavin looked up from the cell phone he had been talking into. "The LAPD is on its way to Angel's hotel."

"I thought we had made sure they wouldn't interfere?" Linwood growled menacingly.

"Apparently someone made sure they would, someone with more juice than us," Gavin replied to his boss politely.

"Harris and his friends," Lilah guessed.

"Should I tell the lobby to expect another tank to crash through the front doors?" Gavin asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shut up!" Lilah turned backed to the transmitter. "Someone out there, tell me what's going on!"

 **Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. A short while later**

"God damn. Did anyone think to check if it was raining before we came up here?" Gunn asked, already soaked through to the skin.

"I didn't, otherwise I would have gotten an umbrella," Cordelia grumbled, her pride and joy - namely, her hair - now a ruined, wet mess. "A big one."

"Err, actually the weather is not entirely unexpected, but hopefully it will act to further mask our presence," Wesley said as he wiped away some rain drops from his face. Rain came down steadily as the Fang Gang huddled under what cover they could find.

"After I come down with a cold, Wes, I'll remember you saying that," Cordy snarked back.

"Achoo!" Andrew sneezed, causing Cordelia to give him a glare.

Darla cradled Connor in her arms as the group listened to sounds of combat from below. The doctor and the witch doctor hovered nearby, their job theoretically done; but nonetheless, they were concerned over how all the current activity would affect the baby. The M.D. had barely had time to give Connor his Vitamin K shot, never mind the PKU test.

"How long until this so-called backup arrives?" Angel asked impatiently.

"I don't know. Hopefully soon," Wesley replied.

"Anyone think we oughta go ask that Red guy?" Gunn wondered if it would be a good idea to look over the edge of the roof to get an idea of what was going on below.

"Well, *I* certainly have quite a few questions for Mr. Red," Cordy said grumpily. She suspected that the secret agent might have information on Xander's whereabouts; something the young woman was still very keen to determine. {I just bet that the dorkhead arranged for all our guests to show up earlier on, somehow. And I hate to admit it, but what I went through tonight might actually have been bearable - if it was his hand I'd been holding! Not to mention if there'd been a boatload of drugs, plus nine months' worth of Lamaze classes.}

Cordelia then spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. "Hey!"

The others turned to look at the new arrival. "Yo, man, how'd you get up here?" Gunn said as he and Wesley assumed fighting positions.

The new arrival was standing in an overcoat with rain drops splashing off him, a sword in his right hand and a broad hat covering his head. Angel and Darla both felt a cold chill in their stomachs when they recognized the new arrival's face.

"Holtz?" they said almost at the exact same moment.

"You recognize me, even after all these centuries," the 18th century vampire hunter said sarcastically.

"How the hell did you get here?" Angel asked, before his eyes narrowed. "You still smell human to me - Holtz, what kind of dark magicks have you dabbled in to get here?"

"You know this dude?" Gunn asked, looking around in confusion.

"Angel, is this Daniel Holtz? *The* Daniel Holtz?" Wesley's eyes were suddenly huge. "The vampire hunter from the 18th century."

"You've heard of me," Holtz narrowed his eyes, staring at his compatriot. "I detect an Oxford accent."

"I am Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, sir," Wes stood up proudly, despite the pouring rain.

"I know that family name. I met Steven Wyndham-Pryce when I was a captain in the Yorkshire militia, many years ago," Holtz replied guardedly.

"My ancestor roughly nine generations back, if memory serves - at one time, the deputy head of the Watchers Council," Wes nodded.

"I must confess to finding myself both puzzled and intrigued, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. Why would a man from a family such as yours stand alongside two vampires, demons who, even in my time, were infamous for slaughtering helpless women and children?" Holtz demanded.

"Hey!" Andrew yelped in indignation, before wilting as everyone turned to face him. "I mean, uh."

Darla vamped out as fear for what might happen to Connor kicked in. "Look, Holtz - what Angelus and I did to you was unforgiveable, especially with regard to your wife and children. But come what may, I will NOT let you harm our child as retribution for that!"

"Your child?" Holtz said in confusion.

"The miracle child, sir," Wesley told him, gesturing towards Connor; who was safely protected from the rain within his mother's arms. "The human baby destined to be born to the only two vampires in this world that stand on the side of Light, due to the presence of their human souls."

"Souls? Light? Two vampires creating a human child? What madness is this you speak of?" the middle-aged hunter looked like he couldn't believe his ears, as he brought his sword up.

"Put that down," Angel said, vamping out like Darla. "I mean it, Holtz! Whatever issues you have with Darla and me, you will not risk our son's life over them!"

A stunned look of disbelief then came across Holtz's face. "You're actually serious. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce spoke truly, then? Vampires with a child and - souls?"

"Well, duh! It only took you like forever to finally get it!" Cordelia said, now thoroughly soaked and annoyed.

"And who are you?" Holtz looked down his nose at her.

"The name's Cordelia Chase! Look, buddy, I've just had one of the most painful evenings of my entire life, okay? So why don't you just go away, before someone around here makes you take a hike?!"

"Really and who might do that, exactly, you?" Holtz replied, his 18th century mentality not very accepting of a woman who dared to threaten him in such a way.

Gunn stepped forward, lifting up his hubcap-derived axe. "You heard what my home girl just said, dog. So hit the road, already."

"And by that he means, leave while you still can," Gwen finally spoke up, stripping off one of her gloves and throwing a lightning bolt over Holtz's head, causing the vampire hunter to duck and stare at her with undisguised hostility. "'Cause just in case you haven't figured it out yet? You're definitely outnumbered here, and I personally could have killed you at any time - from the first moment I laid eyes on you."

The silence on the rooftop was broken only by the rain falling. The silence lasted for a time that seemed far longer than it actually was, as Holtz considered his options. It was obvious Sahjhan had not been fully truthful with him regarding the company his undead targets kept, which was an issue he intended to take up with the timeshifter demon at the first opportunity.

Suddenly a flash of lightning lit up the sky, and everyone was distracted when Gwen was hit by a lightning bolt coming down from the heavens.

"Son of a BITCH!" the seer cursed, spasming on the ground as electrical sparks erupted from various parts of her body. The others all gathered around her, especially Dr. Haldane; and then the M.D. had to be warned not to touch the Electra Girl, if he didn't want to be electrocuted to death.

When the spasming and the electrical discharges had subsided, only then did everyone realize Holtz was gone.

"Where did he go? And what the hell's going on with that Holtz guy?" Cordelia asked. She then looked over at the two ensouled vampires. "I'm thinking, you two are probably the best ones to answer that?"

 **Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. A while later**

"So, let me get this straight. This operation failed to acquire its primary target, namely the baby, as well as eliminate its secondary targets, such as its parents, plus the enemy has managed to secure its base of operations. Not only with a number of armed forces, but also with an anti-violence spell surrounding the entire hotel. Thanks to Siberian Trip Wire, and those three *bitches* known as the Transuding Furies. Did I miss anything?" Linwood demanded of his subordinates.

"There is the issue of that prophecy concerning the miracle child, sir," Gavin spoke up, the Asian man's face having a carefully neutral expression on it. "According to our highly esteemed and I can't help thinking, somewhat overpaid translator, the child was supposed never to be born, or to die during labor, or something. And yet, he's still there in that hotel according to the psychics, alive and kicking?"

"According to my source, it was just an issue of interpretation. The prophecy said that the mother would not give birth to her child; there was nothing there about another woman being able to do the job for Darla," Lilah informed her colleagues.

"Ah. Let me guess - that shaman who was observed entering the hotel earlier on, he did some sort of spell to transfer the baby into a surrogate mother when it was time for him to be born? Ms. Chase, perhaps?" Gavin's brilliant legal mind did not take long to figure it all out.

"Bingo," Lilah raised an eyebrow as she stared at her male colleague. {Maybe you *do* have some brainpower to go with the job. Not too much, of course, but still.}

"What about the group that took out one of our best strike teams?" Linwood growled.

"A collection of human mercenaries and Grapplar demons, sir. Most of them were slaughtered. Their leader, however," Lilah handed over a photograph of Holtz that had been taken by a camera with a long distance lens. "He got away, and we've got no idea who he is. Gavin and I ran this through the best face and voice recognition software available, and came up with nada. Whoever he is, he's not in the system."

"We're still working on identifying him, but so far that's all we know," Gavin finished up.

Linwood shook his head. "Actually, that's all 'you' know. I, on the other hand, know nothing about any of this."

"Sir?" Gavin tried to play dumb, even though both he and Lilah were smart enough to sense which way the wind was blowing now.

Linwood stared at him. "It's patently obvious that I could never have been involved in such an ill-conceived and, in the end, thoroughly botched operation."

Gavin nodded dutifully, "Because you were never here."

"That is correct," Linwood agreed with him.

Lilah sighed, "But we were."

Linwood stared at her as he said, "You were. I'll expect a full report at tomorrow's staff meeting, and be advised, when I hear about all this for the very first time, I will be both shocked and appalled at what you two have done.

"Good night, Lilah. Gavin," the semi-insane head of the Special Projects division smiled at his minions, before calmly departing out of Lilah's office.

TBC...


End file.
